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by lostinparallel



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bullying, Cameos, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Injury, M/M, Prejudice, Scarification, Slow Build, im not kidding there are so many people in this, implied depression, specifically blood status prejudice and homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel
Summary: Gavin soon realises that nothing is more magical than seeing Michael smile.





	1. Wednesday 10th September 2010

Icy wind rushes through the train station. Newspapers scatter and a ripple of complaints sweeps over the crowd of work commuters. A pale sun rises in the sky, showering the frost-covered grass in cold light. Eventually the clouds draw in, blotting out the sunlight and cloaking the city in an expanse of grey.

The meshwork of metal beams, forming a wiry domed roof over King’s Cross Station, do little to keep the frigid air and chilling rain from ruining everyone’s Monday morning; all except for Gavin Free’s, whose spirit soars as he skips across the platforms, grinning from ear-to-ear. His poor mum runs after him, dragging his heavy luggage with her.

Gavin pulls his coat tighter around his slim frame, burying his face in a striped green scarf as a gust of wind blows past.

He doesn’t even _try_ to contain his laughter when a large, balding man drops to the floor and chases hurriedly after his train ticket. Gavin thinks the man looks rather like an egg in a suit, red-faced and heaving as it scuttles away with the wind.

Lloyd, Gavin’s cat, is least of all impressed. She meows testily as her cage is rattled about by the giggling eleven-year-old. Gavin notices her pale, green eyes watching him sourly and composes himself, slowing his pace to a jog when she continues to wag her tail in discomfort.

_“Gavin!”_

He hears his mum’s voice behind him, distant and out of breath. _“Slow down!”_

Mrs Free’s hair is damp and clings to her thin face. The rain has completely soaked through her grey work suit, colouring it a dismal shade of black. Several people turn their heads, murmuring quietly to each other as Mrs Free attempts to juggle her umbrella and Gavin’s mountain of suitcases. She finally comes to a halt beneath a sign with a number nine on it, panting a little from chasing after her over-zealous son.

Gavin shuffles back to his mum, his smile faltering at the look of confusion etched across her face.

“What is it?” he asks.

Mrs Free furrows her brows. “The ticket’s wrong. It says we have to go to ‘Platform Nine and Three Quarters.’”

Gavin grins widely, delighted by the predicament. “ _Really?_ Can I see?” He snatches the ticket out of her hand without waiting for an answer, marvelling at the strange number written on it.

Mrs Free breathes out a sigh and tucks a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s probably just a typo, sweetheart. They must’ve sent us the wrong thing in the post.”

Gavin realises his hair is sticking up in every direction possible but he’s too excited to care.

“Let’s go to the ticket office and see if they can get us a new one, alright?”

Mrs Free cups Gavin’s face with her hand. He leans into the affectionate touch and she pinches his cheek, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from him. Gavin nods in agreement and, together, they head to the opposite end of the platform.

The wind picks up. Brisk air seeps through Gavin’s clothes and he tugs his coat sleeves over his fingers to shield them from the cold. As he trails after his mum, he kicks absently at a pebble and watches it skim across the ground, rolling to a halt next to a pair of brand-new dress shoes.

Gavin almost trips over his own feet when he sees who’s wearing them.

A boy dressed in smart trousers and a button-up shirt sulks near the edge of the platform. The rain paints his auburn hair a dark red and the freckles dotting his cheeks stand out starkly against his pale skin.

Gavin is struck by how _pretty_ he is, like a prince out of one of his little sister’s Disney movies.

The boy appears to have messed with his outfit as much as possible, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and untucking it from his trousers. His small hands are clenched into fists and his features contort into a look of petulance. Rectangular glasses slip further down his nose as he yells animatedly.

A scary woman looms over him, wearing an expression of rage fierce enough to rival the boy’s. Her fiery, red hair swishes in the bleak air as she barks at him. The confrontation is muffled by the buzz of the station, but Gavin can hear the anger behind her words as he watches from afar.

The woman yanks on the boy’s ear, swooping down to his level in one swift movement and blocking him from Gavin’s view. Gavin cranes his neck, trying to see past her hunched figure, but it’s hopeless.

His attention eventually returns to following after his mum but, as he moves to turn away, the woman steps back. She hoists a leather satchel further up her shoulder and grasps the handle of a suitcase that lies discarded on the stone floor. Slowly, the boy lifts his head, and as he takes the bag that the woman is thrusting into his hand, his eyes meet Gavin’s. His expression changes, his mouth hanging open, and something unreadable replaces the look of indignation in his eyes.

Gavin takes a clumsy step towards him, stopping abruptly when he realises that the woman is watching him, too. He suddenly feels like he’s intruding, witnessing something that he wasn’t meant to see. The tension is stifling.

Scowling, the woman turns back to the boy, snatching the suitcase back and dragging it along the ground. She steers the boy away from the platform’s edge and over to the brick wall in between platforms nine and ten. After briefly glancing around the station, she gives him a push.

The boy steps straight through the wall, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Gavin’s jaw hits the ground. He looks around incredulously, eyes suddenly roaming the crowded platform for his mum. By the time he turns back to the brick wall, the woman is gone as well, and Gavin takes off running.

_“...No, I don’t know why the ticket says that… Well they clearly mucked it up in the post... The train will be here in five minutes, could you please just—”_

Gavin almost knocks Mrs Free off her feet, jumping out and latching onto her side like an overexcited puppy.

“Mum, Mum, Mum—there’s a wall! We have to walk through it like a magic _portal!_ Look, I swear—”

The ticket inspector watches them both dubiously.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Mrs Free says to him, forcing out a polite smile.

Gavin drags his mum across the platform, ignoring her protests as she struggles to hold onto his ridiculous amount of luggage. The crowd parts, grumbling and making rude comments as Mrs Free proceeds to bump into half of the people in the station. Gavin makes sure to stick his tongue out at the lanky man he hears call his mum a “daft idiot.”

They halt at the brick wall where the boy and the angry woman disappeared.

Gavin grins like he’s fit to burst while Mrs Free stares at the two signs above their heads like she’s lost the plot. One has a white number nine printed on it and the other has a number ten.

“What is it you wanted to show me, darling?” Mrs Free asks, failing to hide the utter bewilderment in her voice.

“We have to go through it,” Gavin says.

“Right...”

“If I’m _right_ , will you buy me sweets?”

Mrs Free looks at Gavin, unblinkingly. “Sure.”

Gavin tugs his suitcase from his mum’s grasp and clutches onto her hand. She shoots him a questioning glance, barely managing to choke out an alarmed shout before Gavin runs directly at the brick wall, dragging her with him.

For a split-second, everything goes dark. Gavin feels like he’s suspended in emptiness, with nothing but his mum’s warm palm clasped in his to ground him. The world spins around dizzyingly and Gavin squeezes his eyes shut, repressing the urge to vomit. When he finally opens them again, a bustling platform bursts into view.

Hanging above their heads is a black sign that reads _Platform 9¾._

Crowds of children and teenagers file through the station, dressed in plain, grey school uniforms and all adorned in ties of different colours. Their black cloaks billow in the cutting breeze as they hurry about the platform, hauling mountains of suitcases. Some look as though they’ve done it a thousand times while others cling desperately to their parents.

Pets rattle about inside cages. Owls swoop overhead, hooting noisily and occasionally pooping on poor, unsuspecting strangers. The air is heavy with soot. Smoke sifts through the sea of people, spiralling up into the dismal sky.

Gavin holds onto his mum’s hand. He sucks in a deep breath, steeling himself before taking his first step in the wizarding world.

The Hogwarts Express is at the centre of the commotion, standing proudly amidst the noise and the heavy rainfall – a magnificent scarlet backdrop that towers over the gatherings of students and parents.

Gavin’s mum turns to him, a look of pride and adoration shimmering in her hazel eyes. Before she can open her mouth to speak, a loud chime echoes across the platform and the crowd instantly begins to disperse, saying their goodbyes and filing into the open train carriages.

Mrs Free crouches down to be eyelevel with Gavin, dropping the suitcases and baggage before clasping him by the shoulders.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Gavin shies away from her, averting his gaze to Lloyd, who is curled up sleepily inside her carrier.

“I’m not going away forever, Mum. I’ll be back before you know it,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it’ll seem like forever to me,” Mrs Free says, offering him a watery smile.

“Mum, please don’t cry.”

“Gavin…”

“— _Oh_ , I was right about the wall. You promised me sweets.”

“ _Gavin._ ”

“What?” he blurts.

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

Mrs Free holds out her arms and Gavin meets her halfway, allowing her to envelop him in a warm embrace.

“I will,” he promises.

It’s only when the whistle sounds that Mrs Free forces herself to let go. She quickly helps Gavin to pull on his backpack and hands him his luggage. Smoke seeps more steadily from the train’s chimney, and Mrs Free gives Gavin one last peck on the cheek before ushering him onto one of the carriages.

One by one, the doors slide shut. The train suddenly jolts, groaning along the tracks, and Gavin has to latch onto the door handle for balance.

Mrs Free waves at him from the platform, stumbling after the train as it slowly picks up speed. She blows him kiss after kiss, and Gavin makes a show of being embarrassed by her sappy behaviour, but he catches one anyway and blows it back in the hope that she’ll stop crying.

The whistle sounds for a second time and Platform Nine and Three Quarters grows smaller in the distance.

Gavin stays glued to the window, his nose pressed against the glass as he scans the shrinking platform for his mum. His smile finally drops when she disappears from sight.

**

Minutes crawl by slower than hours, but Gavin eventually builds up the strength to tear himself from the window.

The Hogwarts Express thunders along the train tracks. Gavin stumbles down the corridor, peeking into each of the compartments in search of an empty one. He does his best to remain upright when the train suddenly takes a sharp left, launching him sideways, but the giggles coming from the open compartments tells him that he’s failed miserably. He’s grateful when their doors finally slide shut, muting the laughter.

Flustered, he staggers to his feet, dusting off the fluff and strands of cat hair that have stuck to his jeans. He cards a hand through his unkempt hair, shedding his heavy coat and green scarf, when he notices a pair of eyes watching him from across the corridor.

A scrawny boy sits alone in a compartment, stroking an owl with sleek, black feathers through the metal bars of its cage. The boy has messy, dark hair and wears a pair of old-looking glasses, which rest crookedly on the bridge of his round nose. He regards Gavin with an amused expression, setting down his owl’s cage on the carpeted floor between his legs.

“Rest in peace, your cat. I think you just sat on it,” he says dryly.

Gavin blinks, taken aback, and checks Lloyd’s carrier. She’s alive, but not that pleased about it.

The boy’s lips stretch into a smug grin. “I’m kidding, dude. There’s a free seat if you want it.”

Gavin raises his eyebrows, not sure how to react the boy’s sense of humour. Nevertheless, he figures anything is better than rolling around in a corridor, and accepts the offer, strolling into the compartment and taking the vacant seat.

“You’re not so great at first impressions, are you?” he says, unlocking the door of Lloyd’s carrier and allowing her to crawl onto his lap.

“Dude, I take pride in them. Wouldn’t say the same for you, judging by the circus act you just pulled where you landed on your face.”

Gavin lets out a surprised laugh and extends his arm to shake the boy’s hand.

“I’m Gav. It’s nice to meet you,” he beams.

“...Gav?”

“Yeah, short for Gavino.”

The boy’s lips curl upwards in a smile. “Seriously?”

“Nah, it’s Gavin, but you can call me whatever.”

“Alright, _Whatever_. The name’s Ray.”

Gavin’s grin widens. He drops Ray’s hand and glances out of the window at the rolling hills and green countryside that blur past.

“It’s bloody mental, innit? We’re going to a school that actually teaches _magic,_ ” he says, barely containing his enthusiasm.

“Maths was mental enough for me. I’m not ready for magic,” Ray gripes.

Gavin looks at Ray as though his bored expression is a heinous crime. “You mean—you’re not excited?”

“’Course I’m _excited_. ’S long as they don’t make me do long division, I don’t care.”

Gavin hums in agreement, gently stroking behind Lloyd’s ears. He smiles as she purrs softly.

They continue making small talk, asking about each other’s mundane experiences at primary school and speculating about what Hogwarts might be like. Neither of their parents went to Hogwarts so the two of them can only imagine.

After being allowed to pet Lloyd, Ray starts to babble about his pet owl, Flynt, when a head of curly, auburn hair peers around the open compartment door. It takes Gavin a moment to realise that this is, in fact, the same curly-haired, bespectacled boy from Platform Nine. The thought makes heart seize in his chest.

The boy looks like he’s about to enter until his eyes land on Gavin and he freezes partway through the door.

Ray glances from Gavin to the boy, frowning in confusion at the blank expressions on both of their faces. The silence lingers until Ray is practically dying from the awkward tension. He clears his throat, glad to have interrupted the intense staring contest going on between Gavin and his curly friend.

“You okay there?” Ray asks, genuinely worried about this kid’s mental state.

The boy finally breaks out of his trance. “Yeah, I was just—” his gaze flickers back to Gavin, “lookin’ for someone…” He shifts from one foot to the other, looking as though he’s going to leave, when he says, “You guys should get changed. We’ll be there soon.”

Before either Gavin or Ray can respond, he disappears from the corridor.

“Making friends wherever you go, huh?” Ray says, shaking his head. “D’you even _know_ that guy?”

“No. I just... saw him on the platform.” Gavin’s thoughts return to the scary woman who was with the boy, and he frowns. “Where are we supposed to get changed anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. “In the compartment?”

Ray shrugs. “I guess so.”

“…I won’t look if you don’t.” Gavin waggles his eyebrows immaturely, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“I’m gonna regret lettin’ you sit here, aren’t I?

“Oh, absolutely.”

Ray pulls his suitcase out from under his seat and starts unpacking his robes. Gavin, on the other hand, is already shirtless and unbuckling his jeans.

Then, to the misfortune of _everyone_ , a girl with ruby red hair and strikingly green eyes pokes her head around the compartment door – which Gavin stupidly forgot to close. At first, she only notices Ray, failing to understand why he looks like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Have you guys seen a kid with orange-ish hair, freckles...?” she asks, scanning the compartment. She flinches when her gaze finally lands on the lanky, half-naked body of Gavin Free, who is in the process of shimmying into his school trousers.

“You know what—it’s cool,” she stammers.

After sending Ray a startled look, she hurries past the compartment.

The two boys burst out laughing. Even hours later when the conversation has changed entirely, Ray will mention the girl’s horrified face and the giggling will start all over again.

**

The sky is a dark backdrop of storm clouds by the time the Hogwarts Express arrives at Hogsmeade Station. Gavin bounds out of his seat and nearly falls on top of Ray, who scoots out of his chair just in time to avoid being sat on. An automated, feminine voice rings through the speakers, echoing along the carriage as the train comes to a halt.

_“Please leave your luggage in the compartments. It will be taken to the castle separately.”_

The doors then simultaneously swing open. Gavin and Ray scramble out of their compartment, hopping off the train carriage and onto a dingy, little platform.

The weather has only gotten worse. Heavy rain batters against the stone walkway, which shines like silver under the moonlight. The wind picks up and thunder rumbles through the brittle air. It isn’t long before the students lose their minds, squealing as the rain lashes against their faces and drenches their uniforms.

Gavin hears a gruff voice yelling over the chaos, cracking a little from exertion.

_“First Years! First Years, to me!"_

A man with dark, thinning hair and tired eyes beckons them towards him. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and a pale-yellow tie hangs loosely around his neck.

The large group of First Years soon form a muddled line in front of him, still screaming and scuttling about as the rain drums against the platform.

Sighing, the man draws out a misshapen stick and waves it in a fluid motion. The air above the First Years domes and spreads outwards, twinkling under the glow of the streetlamp until a thin sheet of light shelters them from the downpour. Gavin watches in fascination as the rain thrums against the barrier, trickling along the invisible umbrella and falling onto the stone at his feet.

Mesmerised by the spell, the First Years lapse into silence.

The man at the front of the group pockets his wand and pulls out a silver hipflask from the inside of his tattered blazer. He unscrews the lid and tips his head back to take a wig, scowling when a single drop of amber liquid falls onto his tongue. He pockets the empty flash, the frown lines embedded in his forehead somehow deepening.

“Alright, let’s go.”

The First Years cheer loudly and the line progresses, following the man like a flock of ducklings trailing after their mother.

After squeezing through groups of chattering students, Gavin and Ray reach the front of the line.

Gavin regards the man leading the procession with interest. He has a high forehead and large ears pierced with black stud earrings. His most notable feature is, undoubtedly, his moustache – neatly trimmed and curling at the sides. His blazer sleeves are rolled up, revealing a wealth of tattoos that cover his forearms and spread across his hands. Some of them are bright and colourful, others scrawled in plain black ink, and Gavin swears he saw the tree on the man’s left arm actually _move_.

“So… Who are you?” Gavin asks curiously, jogging to keep up with man’s long strides. Ray eventually gives up and decides to hang back, falling into step beside a girl with blonde hair.

“Geoff Ramsey,” the man says casually, “And you are...?”

“Oh, I’m Gavin.” Gavin grins toothily and Geoff’s lips lift upwards slightly in a smile. “What do you teach?” he continues eagerly.

 “Defence Against the Dark Arts. It’s by far the coolest subject you’ll do at Hogwarts... Speaking of which, here it is.”

They turn a corner and the group of First Years lets out a chorus of awe-filled sighs.

The castle comes into view, towering above them on a great mass of land that protrudes out of the dark lake surrounding it. Moonlight dances across the water, casting shimmering reflections along the lakeshore and illuminating a fleet of small boats that bob up and down in the dark waves.

Towers and spires stretch into the sky, brushing against the canvas of charcoal clouds. Orange light flickers in each of the castle’s windows like hundreds of tiny, glowing fireflies embedded in a sea of stone.

Geoff pushes one of the larger boats into the water and quickly climbs aboard as it begins to drift across the lake.

“Alright, kids. Hop in.”

The girl with blonde hair is unlucky enough to have to ride with Gavin and Ray. Barely a minute passes before she is half-laughing, half-screaming at Ray to quit rocking the boat while Gavin white-knuckles the sides, looking as though he’s going to throw up. Ray eventually stops because the retching noises coming out of Gavin’s mouth start to make _him_ feel sick.

Thankfully, the boats dock at the other side of the lake before either Gavin or Ray can vomit. Moist earth squelches under Gavin’s feet as Geoff leads them across a field, marching towards the castle’s front doors.

Gavin relishes the immediate warmth that envelops him as he steps inside. He turns to send Ray a grin and trips up a flight of stairs as a result. Gavin doesn’t miss the way Geoff chuckles under his breath as Gavin practically falls onto the blonde girl in front of him.

The group of First Years halts before an arched, oaken door. Geoff clears his throat, waiting patiently for their excited chattering to die down.

“Alright!” His voice breaks as he raises it over the noise. Gavin briefly wonders if Geoff actually _finished_ going through puberty.

“For those of you who don’t know, the Great Hall is on the other side of these doors. There, you’ll be sorted into your school houses. We’ve got Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

He pauses in what Gavin assumes is for dramatic effect. It definitely works, and the First Years fall silent once more.

“No house is better than the rest so, no matter where you get sorted, it’ll be the best place for you. If you do well in your school activities, you’ll get house points, but if you break the rules, you lose points.  The house with the most points at the end of the year wins the House Cup, so don’t screw up or you’ll ruin it for everyone.”

An uncomfortable weight settles in the pit of Gavin’s stomach. Geoff’s voice fades into the background, and Gavin fiddles with his uniform in an attempt to distract himself from the nerves twisting inside his gut.

“This sorting business seems a bit formal, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, glancing at Ray.

“Nah, it’s no biggie. They just put you into some lame house based on your personality, or whatever,” Ray says, totally unbothered.

Then, the oaken doors drift open. Gavin is greeted by four long rows of tables, each with hundreds of students seated around them. They all seem to stare at him as he enters, and Gavin’s stomach does a somersault.

Snarling gargoyles decorate the stone walls, hunched over and clutching black trays filled with flickering flames. Candles float across the hall, suspended below a pitch-black ceiling dotted with silver stars and a glowing crescent moon. It’s almost like there’s no ceiling at all.

“...Trippy,” Ray comments.

Gavin follows closely behind Geoff as he leads them further into the hall.

“Are all of the houses _really_ equal?” Gavin whispers.

“Well, sure... But everyone knows Hufflepuff is the best,” Geoff says, grinning slyly.

A ratty, pointed hat sits on a lone stool in front of the High Table, and a man with dark, curly hair and a greying beard stands beside it. He wears a checked shirt, thick rimmed glasses and a bright, red tie with a golden lion stitched into the fabric.

Geoff stops by the stool and the line of First Years comes to a standstill, fidgeting under the curious gaze of the older students. He gives them all an encouraging smile before taking the empty seat at the High Table.

“Okay. Before we get started, Professor Hullum wants to say a few words,” the teacher in the checked shirt says.

A man with sandy hair and a round face sits at the centre of the High Table. With a friendly smile, he rises from his bronze throne and gazes out at the rows of students.

“Thank you, Professor Burns. I’d like to welcome all of you to another year at Hogwarts. I hope you’re all looking forward to the start of a new term and have come ready, and willing, to learn.”

A few of the older students roll their eyes, groaning in disagreement.

“First Years,” Professor Hullum booms, his voice taking on an authoritative quality. “I ask you, and all other students, to remember: do _not_ enter the Forbidden Forest unless you want to be eaten by hungry acromantulas.”

Several faces in the audience pale drastically. Gavin feels his heartbeat speed up. He has no idea what an _acromantula_ is but it sounds bloody terrifying.

Professor Hullum’s lips twist into a smile, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But—seriously—don’t do it or the Ministry will start hassling me, again.”

Hullum plops down in his throne and the table of teachers laugh at his apparent inside joke.

“Must be a teacher thing,” Ray whispers.

While Gavin questions the alarming lack of health and safety rules at this school, the checked shirt teacher – Professor Burns – reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a roll of paper. He steps onto the wooden stage, adjusting his red tie before speaking in a loud voice.

“When I read out your name, come and take a seat on this _glamorous_ stool, and the Sorting Hat will sort you into your houses.”

Gavin turns to Ray, confusion evident in his expression, “How the bloody hell is a hat supposed to—”

“ _Gavin Free._ ”

Everyone in the hall turns to stare at him. Gavin can feel their curious eyes burning holes through the back of his skull. Ray pats him on the shoulder sympathetically and a knot closes in Gavin’s throat. He swallows around it, stepping onto the wooden stage and perching awkwardly on the tiny stool.

The Great Hall is still with tension. Only the sound of Gavin’s shallow breathing breaks the quiet.

Professor Burns lifts the ragged piece of fabric called the ‘Sorting Hat’ and places it on Gavin’s head. The hat is surprisingly heavy and Gavin feels himself shrink under its weight.

Ray watches him from the crowd, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Gavin smiles at the sight of him.

The silence breaks and Gavin jumps out of his skin when a haggard, old voice echoes above his head. A tear along the hat’s brim opens like a mouth and Gavin cringes as the leathery material shifts against his scalp.

“Hmm...” the hat croaks, “Yes... What a mind this one has, always ticking... I know... _Gryffindor!_ ”

The table in the centre of the hall erupts into applause.

Gavin hops off the stool, his lips stretching into a dazed grin. He steps down from the wooden stage and walks towards the cheering students. The Gryffindors greet him warmly, thumping him on the back until his knees buckle beneath him. One of the older students leans down ruffle his hair and Gavin feels his face grow hot.

Eventually, his breathing returns to normal and his heart settles into an even rhythm. Professor Burns clears his throat, lifting the roll of paper to his eyes, and calls out the next name.

“ _Ray Narvaez Junior._ ”

Gavin’s smile widens. He watches excitedly as Ray takes a seat on the stool. The Sorting Hat is placed gently on his head and the hall falls silent. The hat doesn’t speak, merely resting on Ray’s dark head of hair, tilting its little fabric point in thought.

“... _Slytherin!_ ” it shouts.

Ray’s eyes widen. He stays frozen on the stool, mouth hanging open, until Professor Burns ushers him towards the table on the far right. The clapping dies down again and Gavin manages to catch Ray’s eye, receiving a half-hearted smile before Ray turns around to face the front.

The next name is called out, and then the next. The process continues and Gavin soon finds himself growing bored of it. His stomach begins to grumble but he shushes it, hoping that whatever they’re served for dinner will be enough to quell its agitated growling. More names are read out, and the crowd of First Years becomes smaller and smaller until only a handful of students remain.

Barbara Dunkleman, the blonde girl from the boat ride, is sorted into Ravenclaw. The red-headed girl, who was unlucky enough to witness Gavin half-naked, is sorted into Gryffindor. Gavin finds out that her name is Lindsay and, when she sits down, she winks at him playfully. Miles Luna, a boy with short, dark hair and bright eyes, is sorted into Hufflepuff and Gavin pretty much zones out after that.

The last person to have the Sorting Hat placed on their head is Michael Jones, the boy with curly, auburn hair and cheeks cluttered with freckles. His are lips set in a grim line, his scowl deepening as the senile hat rambles on about ‘pure magical bloodlines’ – whatever that means.

Michael nudges his glasses further up his nose and waits for the hat’s final decision. Its fabric mouth finally lets out a triumphant “ _Gryffindor!_ ” and a relieved, but unbelieving grin splits Michael’s features.

Gavin finds himself smiling along with him.

Michael jumps off the stage and struts towards the Gryffindor table. He sits down next to Gavin, shrugging and mumbling something about it being the only free seat when Gavin continues to gawk at him. The empty bench space a few students to the left of Michael would say otherwise.

Gavin forces himself to stop staring at Michael and rests his forehead against the table instead. Just when he thinks his stomach will collapse in on itself from starvation, Professor Burns takes his seat. Professor Hullum then picks up a bottle and starts pouring himself a glass of fizzing purple liquid.

“I hope you’re all hungry...” Hullum says nonchalantly.

Gavin nods so vigorously that he bumps his head against the wooden table. Michael gives him a strange look, but Gavin is too hungry to care. He lifts his gaze to the empty platter and stares at them longingly. A small _pop_ sounds in his ears and he is, very abruptly, face-to-face with a large mountain of mashed potatoes.

Gavin squawks loudly, flailing his arms and sending a jug of gravy flying across the table.

At this point, it’s surprising that Michael hasn’t gotten up and left because Gavin is literally _crying_ at the sight of food. Instead, he calmly reaches across to drag the plate of mash away from Gavin’s unhinged gaze.

Gavin snaps. His hand lashes out, clutching onto the dish in a deathly grip. Michael instantly releases it and Gavin begins shovelling mashed potatoes onto his plate. Half of the pigs in blankets are gone before Michael can even blink, and Gavin has soon drowned his man-sized banquet in an ocean of gravy.

“You’re really frickin’ weird. You know that, right?” says Michael, watching in disgusted wonder as Gavin inhales two-thirds of a Yorkshire pudding in a matter of seconds.

“ _Fanks,_ ” Gavin says through a mouthful of food. When he starts choking, Michael becomes genuinely concerned, pounding Gavin on the back until he spits out part of a cocktail stick.

“Jesus Christ. Chew for god’s sake. _Look—_ you’re eating the napkin!”

The evening rolls on. Michael has to wrestle the second platter of mashed potatoes out of Gavin’s hands and it isn’t long before Gavin has consumed enough to feed three adults.

He pushes his empty plate away, hands scanning his bloated tummy to check that it didn’t explode during the feast. Satisfied at his intact stomach, he swivels around on the bench, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hands.

“So, Michael...”

“What?” Michael asks, irritated.

“You just can’t seem to stay away from me, can you?” Gavin says smugly.

“Shut the hell up.” Michael nudges his glasses along the bridge of his nose – a nervous habit, Gavin notices – and turns away to hide his smile. Gavin’s own grin widen at that.

Professor Hullum makes one final speech, a reminder about the quidditch tryouts taking place next week, before sending them off to bed. Honestly, Gavin is starting to think he’s making these words up: _acromantulas, quidditch –_ it’s ridiculous.

A prefect leads the Gryffindor First Years out of the Great Hall and up several flights of perilous stone steps. Gavin manages to nearly maim himself on the moving staircases and, if Michael hadn’t been there, holding him by the scruff of his shirt, he probably would have fallen to his death.

It’s almost ten o’clock when Gavin is finally tucked into bed, lying on a stiff mattress on the top bunk of a bed in the boys’ dormitory. The room is silent apart from the other boys’ soft snoring and Gavin’s voice, constantly chattering in the dark.

Moonlight streams through the glass windows. It’s well past midnight and Michael is starting to seriously consider _strangling_ Gavin if he doesn’t shut up soon.

“Michael,” Gavin whispers, for what must be the hundredth time that night.

“What?” Michael says, ready to snap.

“...Goodnight.”

Michael sighs, rolling onto his side. “G’night, idiot.”

After hours of talking, Gavin eventually drifts off to sleep. He dreams of rain trickling down a rainbow barrier, a scarlet train that soars through the night sky, and a smiling freckled face haloed by auburn curls.  And, even though he falls asleep halfway through his Herbology class the next day, detention with Professor Pattillo is worth it, Michael’s sleepy voice playing in his mind on repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started planning this fic years ago, which is why certain rooster teeth employees are still in it and other newer employees arent. i also started writing it before achievement hunter actually did the hogwarts sorting quiz so i sorted all the characters into houses myself and, honestly, im just chuffed as fuck that i put geoff in hufflepuff.
> 
> i want to give a big thanks to [isobel](http://citruscinnamon.tumblr.com/) for being so supportive and a wonderful beta, and to [david](http://creativedirectorhere.tumblr.com/) for listening to me ramble about this fic and being super encouraging ❤
> 
> the title is heavily inspired by [to build a home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkP6Tf79UrM) by the cinematic orchestra.


	2. Thursday 19th July 2012

Beads of sweat form along Gavin’s brow. His shoulders tense, eyes scanning the still water calculatedly. Slowly, he exhales a lungful of breath, twisting his body to the side and raising his arm in a smooth, arching motion. Blood pounds in his ears. The stone is perfectly balanced and rests delicately on his fingertips. He tilts his wrist, perches on his toes and—

“HEY, GAVIN!”

Gavin jumps a mile in the air, arms flailing wildly. The stone shoots out of his hand and lands in the lake with an undignified _plop_ , forming gentle ringlets that spread across the water’s surface.

“God _damn it,_ Michael! That one was going to be _perfect,_ ” Gavin squawks, his voice cracking with frustration.

His scowl quickly dissipates at the look of glee plastered to Michael’s face.

“Sorry, Gav. I had to. Your face was friggin’ priceless,” Michael says breathlessly, offering Gavin a shit-eating grin as an apology.

Gavin shakes his head. “Unbelievable.” He returns to searching the lakeshore for another stone, knowing full well that he will never find one so beautifully flat and lightweight.

Clouds float lazily through the clear, blue sky. The sun beats down on the dry grass, harsh light glistening across the water, forcing Gavin to either squint perpetually or stare at his feet. Waves lap gently against the pebble shore. The air is thick, and Gavin can’t seem to shake the sticky heat that clings to his skin.

He glances back at the rest of the group.

Clearly, the summer weather has gotten the best of Ray, who is fast asleep, basking in the sun’s warmth with one arm slung across his forehead. It’s not surprising, really, seeing as he never goes outside.

Miles is attempting to draw a moustache on Ray’s face without waking him but Lindsay is making more than enough noise for the pair of them, failing to conceal her giggles behind the palm of her hand.

Barbara flops down next to Michael and leans heavily on his shoulder. She swishes her long, blonde hair out of her face, slapping Michael in the cheek with it as a result.

“It’s – so – _hot,_ ” she groans.

“No shit,” Michael says. He shoves her away, smirking as she lands unceremoniously on her arse.

Gavin smiles to himself, turning away from the group and squatting to grab a fistful of stones from the shore. He throws each of the dirt-caked rocks one after the other, landing one or two bounces at most but never attaining that perfect three.

“Gavin, you’ve been skimming stones for the past half-hour. Just sit down already,” Michael says petulantly. When Gavin ignores him, he starts tearing clumps of grass out of the dry ground and throwing them at him.

Lindsay watches him with a fond grin. “You know who complains, Michael?” she says, finally slapping the grass out of his hand.

“...Babies,” Ray drones.

Michael rolls his eyes. Even unconscious, the Tuggey-Narvaez double-act is unstoppable.

Ray’s eyes flutter open and he yawns sleepily, dragging himself into a sitting position. Miles takes one look at him and bursts out laughing. Ray frowns and flops back down onto the grass while Miles practically pisses himself.

“Miles drew a dick on my face, didn’t he?”

“Nah, it’s more sophisticated than that,” Barbara says.

Gavin continues to pace along the shoreline. Despite the lack of a much-needed breeze, the water seems choppier than usual. He plucks a flat piece of slate from the ground and skims it across the lake. It bounces three – no – _four times._

“Oh! That was _top!_ ” he shouts triumphantly, fist pumping the air.

When he turns to share his achievement with the others, he finds Lindsay wrestling a mirror out of Ray’s grasp, desperately trying to stop him from looking at his crooked, pen-ink moustache. Gavin sighs like a tired parent.

_Why do I even bother?_

Something cold and wet sloshes against his feet and he startles.

The water has risen to his ankles.

Waves roll against the pebble shore, dragging the wet earth down to the dark depths of the lake. Intrigued, Gavin picks up another stone and lobs it into the water. When it hits the surface, the circular ringlets that form dissolve into a swirling, blue vortex.

“Dude, you might want to stop,” Barbara warns.

“Why?”

“You’re kinda creating a tsunami.”

Gavin scoffs and continues to chuck stones, and the pieces of grass that Michael threw at him, into the lake. Barbara raises her hands in a _don’t-say-I-didn’t-warn-you_ manner – the true mum friend of the group.

Minutes pass and, by the time Gavin realises that Michael has been unusually quiet, it’s too late. He hears a scuffling of shoes behind him, but before he can defend himself, he’s caught off-guard in a vicious headlock. Michael holds Gavin in a vice-like grip, delivering a brutal noogie-tickle combo.

“Aaah, Michael! Get off!” he shrieks.

“C’mon, Gavvy. You like throwing shit in the lake so much, how ’bout you throw _yourself_ in.” Michael laughs wickedly, fingers digging into Gavin’s ribs, and the pair stumbles closer to the water’s edge.

Their battle is cut short when Gavin feels himself sink rather suddenly. He twists his leg in the squelching earth of the lakebed, gritting his teeth. His ankle clicks painfully and one of his shoes dislodges in the mud. Michael relinquishes his hold on Gavin, his laughter dissolving into a breathy giggle as Gavin scrambles to find his shoe before it floats away. He returns to the surface empty handed and Michael only laughs harder.

That’s when the water submerging Gavin’s feet rises to his knees.

Gavin feels the ground churn beneath him, clouding the lake with a dirty smokescreen. Bubbles rise to the surface and waves crash against the shore with so much force that they almost knock him over.

A pale tentacle rockets out of the water. It twists and convulses, spiralling out of the dark depths and hurtling towards them _._

Gavin darts out of the lake, squealing and tripping over his own limbs, and Michael clambers after him, yelling a garbled stream of “Oh shit—oh _shit oh shit!_ ”

Ray leaps into Lindsay’s lap, clinging to her in fear.

“GIANT SQUID!”

The group scrambles to their feet, shrieking and laughing and sprinting out of the grounds. Gavin’s legs are ready to fall off when he finally reaches the castle, muscles burning as he staggers up the stone steps.

The school bell sounds in the distance and he sags. He doesn’t know if it’s the water drenching his uniform or the usual gloom of a post-lunch lesson, but every part of his body feels weighed down.

Astonishingly, Miles is _still_ crying with laughter from Ray’s pen-moustache, and his tears only seem to have been accelerated by the squid fiasco. Gavin is surprised that there’s any liquid left in him, at this point.

Barbara says a rushed farewell to the group before dragging a hysterical Miles to their lesson in the opposite direction.

One sluggish journey up the spiral staircase later and Gavin, Michael, Lindsay and Ray reach the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Geoff watches them enter, chewing absently on the nub of his pen.

He ignores their dishevelled appearances, not even batting an eyelash at Gavin’s lack of a shoe and Michael’s waterlogged trousers. By now, Geoff must be used to them turning up, looking as though they’ve been dragged through a hedge and mauled by a werewolf.

He glances at Ray, smirking, “Nice moustache.”

“You too, sir,” Ray sighs.

**

Sunlight streams through the open curtains of the Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory. Soft rays of orange and yellow crawl along the wooden floor, casting shadows across the sandy, stone walls.

Gavin’s eyes are glued shut with sleep gunk, but he forces them open, rubbing tiredly at his waterline.

After glancing at his watch, he hastily swings his spindly legs over the side of his bunk bed and throws his duvet onto the floor. He vaults off the mattress, landing in an awkward heap on the crumpled bedding.

Michael doesn’t stir – not even when Gavin trips over his own trunk as he fights to shimmy into his school uniform – he remains fast asleep, curls splayed across his forehead, his hair shining a delicate orange in the light of the morning sun.

Gavin pulls on a pair of blatantly odd socks before tugging the pillow out from under Michael’s head. He prods Michael’s freckled cheek incessantly, murmuring “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

Michael’s eyes flutter open, a scowl instantly settling over his features. He doesn’t hesitate to snatch the pillow out of Gavin’s grasp and brutally slap him across the face with it.

The two boys enter the Great Hall twenty minutes after breakfast has begun. Gavin hurries over to their usual table, taking a seat in between a sleepy Ray and an overly-energetic Lindsay. Michael sits opposite him.

The scrambled eggs and bacon have grown cold in Gavin’s absence and the jug of pumpkin juice is all but empty. So, Gavin does what Gavin does best and comes up with something creative. Michael refers to these sparks of brilliance as “Fuckin’ stupid.”

Gavin rummages inside his trouser pocket and draws out his wand, pointing it at the plate of food. If only he could remember the fire spell – what was it? _Incendio?_ He’s not sure if Second Years are even _allowed_ to practice it but his breakfast isn’t going to warm itself.

Gavin manages to raise his wand about an inch into the air before Michael smacks it out of his hand.

“Idiot. You’ll set the whole table on fire,” he scolds.

“But, _Michael!_ My food’s gone gammy.”

Ray jabs a fork at his plate, skewering a half-eaten pork sausage on the end of it. He holds the fork out to Gavin.

Gavin grimaces at the wobbling cylinder of meat. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He shakes his head, backing away as the sausage gets dangerously close to his nose.

Ray accidentally drops his fork onto the floor and Michael barks out a laugh. Gavin freezes, momentarily caught off guard as Michael clutches his tummy, giggles spilling past his lips. Eventually, he manages to tear his gaze away from Michael, and looks towards the High Table instead.

Professor Heyman is talking animatedly to a grumpy-looking Professor Sorola. Geoff is seated on the other side of them, half-asleep while his wife, Professor O’Connell, tries to spoon-feed him soggy cornflakes.

Technically O’Connell’s is Ramsey too, but she lets people call her buy her maiden name to “avoid any confusion with her less-talented other half,” as Geoff put it. O’Connell teaches Care of Magical Creatures three days a week, alternating with other teachers so that she can look after her daughter, Millie.

One day, The Ramseys brought Millie to Hogwarts with them. Gavin fondly remembers crouching down to greet the small girl and having her reach out her tiny hand only to boop his nose.

Most students – and teachers – are scared of O’Connell, what with her multitude of piercings and tattoos and her tough resolve. Working with dangerous, magical creatures has meant that she fears little and is fazed by virtually nothing, but Gavin figures that any woman who gets tattoos which match her husband’s can’t be too terrifying.

Upon inspecting the High Table more closely, Gavin notices that Professor Burns is nowhere to be seen.

Odd – he never usually skips out on breakfast. Gavin hopes Burns isn’t ill on the last day of school; Transfiguration is after lunch and if he gets stuck with that cranky, old bat of a supply teacher _again,_ he might just transfigure her into a goat.

“Hey. Earth to Gavino...”

Ray snaps his fingers in front of Gavin’s face, finally catching his attention. “The bell’s gone. Or d’you plan on being late to Potions too?”

Gavin glances down at the table and, lo and behold, the plates and platters of leftover food have all disappeared. He grabs the strap of his rucksack and slings it over his shoulder, following Ray out of the hall to catch up with Michael and Lindsay.

The corridors are as congested as ever.

If some overbearing Sixth Year jostles Gavin one more time, he might explode. Michael is already _fuming_ beside him. With the stampede transpiring around them, it’s like a scene from The Lion King.

After crab-walking past a gaggle of girls to avoid getting trampled, Gavin’s eyes drop to his feet. A glimpse of something small, ginger and furry scurries across the stone floor.

If it’s what he thinks it is, then Lindsay really ought to keep her cats under control. They’ve already gone missing twice in the past month and losing them on the last day of school would suck, mostly because Gavin would be corralled into helping her look for them.

The potentially lost cat is pushed out of Gavin’s mind when he feels a shoulder knock into him.

Miles and a small, round boy named Kerry have taken to joining them on their trek to the dungeons, chatting happily between themselves as they head to their own lesson. Miles is never aware of the placement of his limbs when he’s having a laughing-fit, and Gavin groans as an arm flies towards him, missing his face by a hair’s breadth.

Ray seems oddly infatuated with Kerry, petting his sandy blond hair and smiling brightly whenever he tells a joke. It’s pretty amusing, and Gavin can’t help but smile as Ray grins like a love-struck idiot.

Miles manages to pull Kerry away before the little lad can follow them any further.

“Come on, Kerr Bear,” he says in a sing-song voice, tugging on Kerry’s sleeve and leading him to their class across the hallway.

Ray watches them leave. He waits until Miles and Kerry are out of sight before smiling so widely that Gavin thinks his face will split in half.

“He’s so... _tiny._ ” Ray’s expression scrunches into one of constipation, as though Kerry’s cuteness is causing him physical pain.

“No way were we that short when we started,” Michael muses.

“Michael, you’re _still_ short,” Gavin says.

“And I can still kick your ass.”

“Yeah, right!”

Michael raises an eyebrow.

“…Yeah… you’re right,” Gavin concedes.

A familiar chill rattles through him as they descend into the dungeons. The air is much staler down here and the sheer number of spiders scuttling across the floor would be alarming if Gavin wasn’t so used to it. 

The Potions classroom’s large, oaken door is open ajar. Gavin pushes it slowly, cringing as it squeaks loudly on its rusty hinges. They shuffle into the room, smiling sheepishly at Professor Haywood, who watches them with a reproachful expression.

“Come on in. You’re only ten minutes late,” he sighs, gesturing to their seats.

Gavin knows Haywood only put him at the front of the class so that he could keep an eye on him – the clever bastard – and with Ray on the other side of the room, Gavin doesn’t have anyone to do fun things with like accidentally setting fire to the school.

Michael is usually up for his schemes but they always seem to end with Gavin screaming and Michael yelling at him.

The dreary Potions classroom is definitely Gavin’s least favourite place in the school. There’s not enough light. He’s constantly breathing in rank-smelling fumes and the domed, stone ceiling does an excellent job at keeping him nice and freezing. He can easily imagine a man like Professor Haywood living in a house like this – cold and eerie and uninviting. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were dead bodies in the ingredients closet.

Professor Haywood clears his throat and the low thrum of conversation ceases.

The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale muscular forearms, and a silver tie stands out against the dark fabric. Thankfully, Haywood isn’t sporting the kilt he wore the year before as a last day of school prank. Or, as Gavin remembers it: _Haywood’s_ _last chance to mentally scar him before the summer break._

“Even though I know you were all at the final quidditch game of the season, I hope you still remembered your two-thousand-word essay that’s due in today,” Professor Haywood says gleefully. It’s not a happy gleeful that inspires feelings of warmth and comfort, but more of a sound that makes you want to cry.

The entire class starts to complain but Haywood raises his hands to shush them.

“Now, just because it’s the last week of term, doesn’t mean you get to relax. I’ve got to spend my summer holiday marking my Fifth Year’s O.W.L. mocks, so you guys have to suffer too.”

“Shouldn’t have become a teacher then, should you?” Gavin mutters grumpily.

Professor Haywood works his way around the classroom, collecting papers and promising detentions to the poor students who didn’t want to waste an evening writing about Chinese Chomping Cabbage.

He eventually reaches Ray, holding out his hand expectantly and waiting for the work to be passed to him. But, seeing as this is _Ray_ , he should have known better.

“Homework?” Professor Haywood prompts.

“Nope. Didn’t do it, sir,” Ray says nonchalantly.

Haywood shrugs. “I guess I’ll be seeing you after dinner then.”

“Guess so.”

Gavin notices one of the Slytherins at the back of the room watching their interaction, a tall hulk of a boy with greasy black hair and a mean grin. If there was ever a human embodiment of a prick, this guy would be it.

“ _Junior’s_ got himself a detention,” he sniggers. His friends at the back of the class join in with his laughter.

Ray grimaces. Their teasing doesn’t last long though because Meg Turney, a Slytherin girl with bright, bubblegum pink hair, gives them the scariest glare Gavin’s ever seen. They shut up pretty immediately after that.

Professor Haywood frowns, his mouth setting in a thin line. He glances at Ray before directing his scorn at the group of Slytherins.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asks Ray, keeping his fixed gaze on the Slytherin students.

Ray would’ve look offended if he could be bothered to care that much. “One year you’ve been teaching me and you _still_ don’t know my name?”

Haywood quirks an eyebrow in response, his lips lifting slightly in a smirk. “I teach a lot of you, what can I say.”

Ray sighs. “It’s Ray, sir.”

“Razor?”

“ _Ray._ Sir.”

Professor Haywood straightens his back and leans away from Ray’s desk. A stern expression settling over his features.

“You hear that, Jake? Call him by his name or don’t call him anything at all,” he says.

The Prick, Jake, averts his gaze, sliding a hand through his greasy hair. He nods stiffly, and Haywood returns to the lesson as though nothing happened at all. Ray doesn’t lift his eyes from the table, suddenly finding the marred wood extremely interesting.

Gavin’s hand shoots into the air. Professor Haywood turns away from the whiteboard and his shoulders droop. Any time Gavin eagerly asks a question he’s come to expect something idiotic.

“Yes, Gavin?” he sighs.

“Since you’re not a Sir, why do we have to call you it?” Gavin asks.

Haywood barely misses a beat. “You’re wrong. The Queen actually knighted me for having to deal with you lot.”

The class laughs and Ray mumbles a “Got him,” under his breath. Gavin simply looks impressed.

After a tedious hour of Professor Haywood attempting to teach a lesson, the bell rings and the students rise to their feet. They file out of the classroom in a somewhat civilised manner, half-heartedly returning Haywood’s sentiments of “Enjoy your summer break.”

Ray stays seated despite Michael and Lindsay’s best efforts to pull him out of his chair. Professor Haywood quickly notices the four rowdy students left inside his classroom and watches them wearily.

“So, _sir,_ since you and I are on a first-name-basis now, how about that detention...” Ray proposes, linking his fingers together like he’s negotiating a business transaction. Gavin is certain Ray doesn’t actually know Professor Haywood’s name but it’s a commendable effort nonetheless.

“Sorry, Razor. I still expect you in my office at eight o’clock sharp,” Professor Haywood says coolly. His lips stretch into a self-satisfied smile and he dismisses them from his class.

The dungeons are pleasantly empty, but the lack of students clogging the hallways means that Gavin is, unsurprisingly, running late to another lesson.

“I think Turney fancies you,” he says slyly, panting a little from running up a flight of stairs.

Ray shakes his head. “You’re only saying that because _you_ have a gross crush on her.”

“Oi, don’t make this about me!”

Michael interrupts them, grinning wickedly, “No, Gav. Ray’s clearly head-over-heels for Professor Haywood.”

“What—?”

“I don’t blame you, dude. He’s a beautiful man.”

“I swear to _God_ I will end both of you,” Ray says.

“Don’t swear, Ray,” Gavin chides.

“Fuck off.”

**

After a ridiculously chaotic Charms lesson, which resulted in children flying around a classroom and Professor Sorola face-planting into his desk, the four of them head out to lunch. They wait a few minutes for the lunchtime rush to die down before navigating the corridors.

Amidst the gatherings of students, Gavin spots a large ball of ginger fuzz leaning against a stone column. He opens his mouth to speak but Lindsay is already miles ahead of him, sprinting over and crouching down to pet the mound of orange fluff. Said fluff ball turns out to be a rather chubby tabby cat. Lindsay reaches out a hand to stroke it but it rises to its feet, hopping off its perch and escaping down the corridor.

“Kitty nooo,” Lindsay whines. “Fine, leave… Just like everyone else I ever loved!”

Ray pats her condolingly on the shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

“So… it’s not one of yours then?” Gavin asks, scratching the back of his neck. Lindsay is too busy grieving to answer him.

“You say it like that but she _only_ has three,” Michael says.

“That’s three times as many as I have!”

Lunch is in the Great Hall, as usual, and they’re only thirty minutes late this time. Today, the enchanted ceiling boasts a peaceful, blue sky. Thin wisps of clouds drift past the sun, shrouding it in a pale haze of white.

The long tables are crowded with platters of sandwiches, glass jugs filled with pomegranate juice and large bowls of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Gavin parks his butt on an empty bench space, sliding along until his shoulder bumps against Michael’s. Michael doesn’t react, not swearing or shoving him away, and Gavin frowns.

He reaches across the table, ignoring Ray’s complaints when his plate of food is nearly sent flying, and grabs a couple of salmon sandwiches from the platter. The pomegranate juice isn’t as thirst-quenching as Gavin had hoped and he ends up downing half of the jug before Barbara can snatch it away from him.

The air is buzzing with noise and laughter. Gavin revels in the loud conversation, munching contently on his sandwich as Miles and Ray engage in an aggressive debate over whether Halo is better than Call of Duty. Ray clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Miles says it’s a nostalgia thing _,_ but Gavin is sure it’s simply because Ray is an idiot.

Michael stares blankly at his meal, poking the lone ham sandwich with his finger. He looks pale, his cheeks lacking their usual colour, and Gavin starts to worry. The frown pulling at Michael’s expression etches soft lines into his forehead.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food,” Gavin says lightly.

Michael’s frown deepens at that. “’M not hungry.”

“Why not?”

Michael shrugs.

_Well, that’s not good._ “Aww, Michael. Don’t be sad. I know six weeks without your boi is a horrible thought but we won’t be parted forever.”

Michael fights back a smile. Warmth swells in Gavin’s chest, his lips spreading into a toothy grin.

“Oh, yeah... I’ll miss you _so_ much,” Michael deadpans.

Gavin pinches Michael’s cheek, “Yes you will, _Micoo_ , you lovely little—”

“KITTY!” Lindsay leaps out of her seat and runs full pelt at the small tabby cat entering the fray.

“Christ, I ought’a put her on a leash,” Michael groans.

The tabby cat pads down the central aisle towards the High Table, stopping in its tracks when Crazy Cat Lady: Lindsay Tuggey blocks its path. The poor thing looks uncomfortable, wagging its tail and leaning away from Lindsay’s touch as she pets it happily.

A maniacal giggle and a burst of loud guffawing sounds over the chatter. Gavin wonders why Geoff and Professor Sorola are laughing so hysterically. And why is the cat _scowling?_

“Something’s off about that cat,” he says suspiciously.

“Relax, Gavin. It’s just a cat,” Ray drawls.

“Yeah, dude. Let it go,” Michael says.

Lindsay also offers some useful input: “Look at _you_. You’re such a good kitty, aren’t you? You’re so fluffy and cute... _Ooh_ what’s your name? _”_

Barbara watches them from afar, eyebrows raised as she nibbles on an apple. “You guys are idiots,” she says, swallowing down a mouthful of fruit and spitting a pip onto her plate.

“ _What?_ I didn’t realise the mysteries of the universe were inside this cat,” Gavin retorts.

“...Absolute idiots.”

The tabby cat finally escapes Lindsay’s clutches, ducking under her arm and darting over to the High Table. Geoff reaches over to pet it and the cat bites his hand, but that only makes him laugh harder.

Lunch finally ends.

Ray and Lindsay say a brief goodbye to Miles, Kerry and Barbara, and Gavin clings onto Michael’s arm. Transfiguration is next and there’s still no sign of Professor Burns.

Gavin decides to lie down in the middle of the corridor. If he’s trampled to death, then at least he won’t have to spend another hour with that _god-awful_ supply teacher. Michael manages to drag him to lesson despite his childish protests.

They pass the Transfiguration Courtyard on their way. Sunlight shines across the neatly cropped grass, shimmering against the stone archways. A silhouette of something small and fuzzy appears in Gavin’s peripheral vision, and a sudden impulse of _fuckin’ stupid_ has him sprinting after it.

“It’s that damn cat again!” he yells.

The tabby cat totters along the corridor, weaving in and out of slow-moving packs of students. Gavin rockets after it.  He ignores Michael’s shouts of “For god’s sake, Gavin!” and hurtles down the stone walkway. Eventually, he reaches the Transfiguration classroom, planting himself in the doorway as the cat approaches.

“No, kitty. You can’t come in,” Gavin coos, attempting to block the cat with his feet. “This is a _people place._ ”

“Cats are people too, Gavin,” Ray says, watching his performance with an amused expression.

It isn’t long before the cat defeats him, strolling through the gap between his legs and waltzing into the classroom.

“Bloody cat, thinks it’s so high and mighty,” he grumbles, his head hanging in shame as he takes a seat at his desk.

Michael pats him reassuringly on the back. “You’ll get it next time, champ.” He pulls out his chair, ignoring the way it scrapes gratingly across the floor, and sits down next to Gavin. “Hey—where’s Burns?” he asks, turning to Lindsay and Ray.

Ray is far too busy copying Lindsay’s homework to pay attention. Lindsay shrugs for him. Surprisingly, neither of them notices that Professor Burns’ vacant chair has now been taken by the tabby cat.

The class goes silent.

Nobody moves. Gavin doesn’t dare take his eyes off the cat and stares defiantly at its blank, podgy face. Suddenly, it shifts. Its fur recedes into pale skin and its limbs stretch as it morphs, growing and twisting. The class watches in horror.

Professor Burns now sits at his desk, eyes bright and lips curling into a smug grin.

“Meow,” he says.

“Christ,” Gavin gasps. “Barbara was right... We _are_ idiots.”

**

The Gryffindor Boys’ Dorm is all but empty, dimly illuminated by the light of a single lampshade. Gavin’s bare feet are cold against the wooden floor. He shivers, shuffling around Michael’s bed to toss his book bag into an open suitcase.

Michael is packing his own luggage beside him, dressed in a white pyjama top and comfy, grey tracksuit bottoms. Their shoulders touch as they brush past each other, collecting clothes and toiletries and textbooks from where they’ve been discarded on the floor.

Michael is quiet. The room would be silent, if it wasn’t for Gavin rummaging noisily through his drawers and the muffled music booming from the common room. The Seventh Years are throwing a leavers party, but seeing as it’s eleven at night, it’s a wonder that Professor Burns hasn’t heard them and decided to hold them back a year.

Gavin kind of wishes that he could join them but… then Michael would be all alone.

“Aren’t you excited to go home, Michael?” he says, attempting to break the ice.

Michael jumps a little, flinching at the sudden question. A mixture of guilt and confusion rises in Gavin’s chest. He frowns, dropping the bundle of clothes he’s holding onto the mattress before padding over to Michael.

“Are you alright…?”

Michael jumps to life, a playful grin masking his expression. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you kidding me? I get to be away from _you_ for six weeks. Christmas has come early!”

“Oi, I’m not that bad,” Gavin says gloomily.

“…Have you met you?”

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over them again, Gavin grabs a cushion from Michael’s bed and chucks it at him.

A beat passes. Then pillows are flying everywhere.

Gavin tackles Michael onto the floor but Michael easily reverses their positions and pins Gavin’s arms above his head. Then the tickling starts, hands digging viciously into the crook of his neck. Gavin isn’t sure if he’s screaming from pain or from laughter.

“Aaaah! _Mercy_ —mercy, Michael!” he squeaks.

Michael releases him, laughing breathlessly as he rolls off Gavin. There’s a moment of calm between them before Gavin uses the opportunity to slap Michael with a slipper. The soft _whoomp_ as it collides with his face is ridiculously satisfying.

“…You’re a dead man,” Michael grins.

Twenty minutes of intense brawling passes before the house prefect finds them. If it wasn’t the last day of school, Gavin’s pretty sure it would’ve meant detention for them both.

A small part of him wishes it had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was kind of a lighthearted, filler chapter. next up, more drama! more romance!!! more bloodshed!!! until next time, darlings.


	3. Friday 14th September 2012

The enchanted ceiling displays a bleak sky, shadowed with fog. Occasionally, the heavy clouds shift and a sliver of pale sunlight will break through the grey canvas.

Michael picks at his scrambled eggs, stirring them around his plate. When he notices Gavin watching him, he nudges his glasses along his nose and hastily swallows down a mouthful of food.

A slim, grey cat perches on his lap. It paws confusedly at Michael’s hand as he leans forward to eat another forkful of egg, failing to understand why its human seat keeps moving.

Ray is out like a light, face planted in his cereal, and doesn’t see Lindsay bounding down the hall with a sleepy Barbara trailing after her. She halts in front of them, staring intently at the cat resting on Michael’s crotch.

“ _Michael!_ ”

Gavin startles so badly that he chokes on his Coco Pops, milk spurting out of his nose. He retches.

Lindsay looks furious.

“What…?” Michael says reproachfully.

A moment of intense silence passes between them before Lindsay’s scowl melts into a bright smile.

“You never told me you had a _cat!_ ” She jumps on the animal, cooing happily and running her fingers through its short, dark fur.

“Oh yeah.” Michael lifts the cat into the air. “Everybody, this is Cole.”

Cole meows sweetly and Gavin’s heart melts.

“You mean—like the thing you put in fire?” Ray asks.

“No, C-O-L-E. What kind of asshole names their pet after a rock?”

“…You named your toad _Squidge_.”

“What happened to her, anyway?” Lindsay says, relinquishing her manic grip on Cole. “It was like one day she just straight up vanished.”

Gavin’s eyes drop to the floor.

Michael turns on him, his mouth spreading in a threatening smile. “Gavin, d’you wanna tell Lindsay what happened to Squidge?”

Gavin fidgets, refusing to make eye contact. “What? What’s a Squidge?”

“ _What’s a Squidge?”_ Michael says mockingly. “Your fuckin’ cat ripped Squidge to pieces, that’s what.”

“Michael! It was an accident. Lloyd thought she was a chew toy—”

“—Gavin, you _monster!_ ” Lindsay gasps.

Amidst the bickering and Lindsay shaking Gavin like a ragdoll, none of them notice the giant Sixth Year strolling over to them. He stands over six feet tall, all broad shoulders and beefy arms, a yellow and black tie hanging from his shirt collar. Chestnut brown curls fall across his high forehead and, with his septum piercing and stubbly beard, he has the bearing of a Viking.

“It was an accident, I swear!” Gavin pleads.

Ray lifts his milk-covered face out of his cereal bowl. “Don’t swear, Gavin.”

Oblivious to the conflict, the Hufflepuff takes a seat on the empty bench space next to Michael. No one says a word to stop him; most of them are too terrified to speak.

“I dunno what you guys are fighting about…” He glances at Michael, who raises his eyebrows at the sudden attention. “ _But,_ I saw your cat. He’s adorable.”

The Hufflepuff then proceeds to withdraw a tiny, striped kitten from under his school jumper.

“This is Solaire. He likes to ride around in my sweater to stay warm.” He gently places Solaire on his shoulder and the small kitten nuzzles into his neck. The Hufflepuff smiles fondly, turning that same fond expression back to their little group.

“I’m Adam, by the way.”

Gavin practically goes into cardiac arrest.

 “Blaine wanted me to remind you guys about the Gryffindor quidditch tryouts tomorrow. Lazy bastard, never does anything himself.”

“You still playing for Hufflepuff? Maybe you should just give up and join the winning team,” Ray says smugly.

“Dude, I’m the captain now. We’re _already_ winning,” Adam grins. He turns back to Michael. “You’ll probably make the team again this year but…” He notices Gavin staring – and drooling – and clears his throat. “Maybe you could bring your, uhh, friend along, too.”

Michael looks from Adam to Gavin and back to Adam, gobsmacked. “Who? _This guy?_ Hah! Last time we let Gavin on a broom he got stuck on the Astronomy Tower. It took Professor Oum fuckin’ _ages_ to get him down.”

Adam lets out a laugh – well, more of a ridiculously endearing giggle, and Gavin flushes bright red.

“Oi, that’s not—”

The bell sounds. Adam plucks Solaire off his shoulder and tucks him back into his jumper. The kitten pops its head up, peeking over Adam’s collar.

He lifts his rucksack off the floor and gives them a small wave. “Well, see you guys around.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Michael says coolly.

The empty bowls, boxes of cereal, and platters filled with eggs and toast all vanish from the table. Gavin gets to his feet and slings his bag over his shoulder, but Lindsay remains frozen, her eyes fixed on the spot where Adam had just been standing.

“…I’m going to marry him.”

“ _Okay,_ time to go!” Barbara exclaims, promptly dragging her to lesson.

**

A low thrum of chatter seeps through the classroom. The constant _tick, tick, tick_ of the grandfather clock breaks the quiet and sheets of rain cascade down large, glass windows. Cold light illuminates the room, streaming across the wooden floor.

Michael is silent, his eyes fixed on their desk. He absently drums his fingers against his thigh, staring blankly at the varnished wood.

Gavin watches him, His gaze flickering between his worksheet and Michael’s worn expression.

 “’Ey, Michael,” he whispers.

Michael flinches slightly but doesn’t lift his eyes from the table. “What, Gavin?” he says sharply.

Gavin ignores the bite in Michael’s voice.

“How close do you think I can get this jinx to Geoff’s face?” There’s a moment of silence, permeating the space between them. Gavin tugs on his collar nervously.

A mischievous grin splits Michael’s features, shining through his tired eyes.

“Not within ten miles if you don’t wanna die,” he says.

Gavin can’t help but smile, relief flooding his chest. He ignores Michael’s warning nevertheless and discreetly aims his wand at Geoff, who is sleepily grading papers at the front of the class.

Gavin locks onto his target – a few millimetres from Geoff’s head – and flicks his wrist. A spark erupts from the tip of his wand and shoots across the classroom. There’s a sudden, collective gasp and the students watch in terror as the jinx collides with Geoff’s moustache, singeing the hair away.

Gavin lets out a squeak, both stunned and impressed by his handiwork.

Geoff springs out of his chair, the fires of Hell burning in his eyes, and Gavin’s pride vanishes in a puff of smoke. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and spares Michael one last glance.

Michael gives him an admirable salute in return.

“Promise me you’ll write something dumb but thought-provoking on my gravestone,” Gavin says dramatically.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Geoff strides across the room and stops in front of Gavin, embers eating at his burnt moustache. He raises his wand and Gavin tenses, squeezing his eyes shut. When Gavin realises that he’s still alive, he opens one eye. Geoff taps his moustache with the tip of his wand and the dark hair sprouts back in all its bristling glory.

“Amateur,” he grumbles.

Gavin does his best not to pass out.

**

Gavin shifts uncomfortably, his shoes squelching in the waterlogged grass. A blustering wind howls across the pitch and the sea of red capes flutter.

He huddles closer to Michael and their shoulders bump. Michael smiles up at him, looking awfully small in his quidditch jersey, twirling a bat skilfully in his hand.

Their team captain, Blaine, stands at the head of the babble – a tall, muscular Fifth Year with a smile made of sunshine. Kyle is stood beside him, his jet-black hair damp from the rain, smirking as he casually throws and catches a quaffle with one hand.

“Alright!” Blaine says, raising his voice over the hubbub. “We’re just gonna a run a few match drills to see how well you guys perform in your chosen positions. The faster we do this, the quicker we can get out of this shitty weather.”

The other Gryffindors grunt in agreement.

“Everyone get into position. Kick-off will be in five.”

Players start hopping onto their brooms, launching smoothly into the air to circle around the gloomy sky.

Gavin’s hands tremble around the handle of his broom, his fingers aching with the cold. He clumsily mounts his broom and raises his eyes skyward, squinting through the rain.

“C’mon, Gav. It’s _easy_. Just bend your knees and kick-off the ground,” Michael says impatiently.

Gavin gulps, feeling something tighten in his throat. His eyes flicker to meet Michael’s and Gavin sees his expression soften. A hand comes to rest on Gavin’s shoulder.

“You can do this.”

Exhaling slowly, Gavin bends his knees and kicks-off the ground hard. He spirals into the air and careens off to the side, barely managing to stop himself from slamming into the stands.

 _“Nice one, Gavin!”_ Ray shouts from the stands.

Gavin spares him a look, smiling embarrassedly, and Barbara gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Michael swoops over. “Remember, you’re lookin’ for the snitch.”

“What’s that again?” Gavin asks.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael sighs. “Little gold ball with wings? Fast as shit…? Catch it and we win.”

“Oh—right, yeah… What about you?”

“I’ll be stopping bludgers from knocking you on your ass,” Michael says confidently. “Forget everything else, just focus on catching the snitch and not falling to your death.”

Gavin nods shakily. Michael gives him one last reassuring pat on the shoulder before flying off to the far end of the pitch.

The whistle sounds and Blaine tosses the quaffle into the air.

Chasers surge forward in a mad scramble for the ball, bumping and jostling each other. Kyle catches it with ease. He rockets across the pitch, ducking and weaving between opposing chasers before hurling the quaffle straight through the middle goal post.

Blaine grins fondly at him from the ground.

About thirty seconds pass before the ball is back in play. This time, Lindsay snatches it out of the air. She swerves past a bludger and dodges a chaser, who misses their tackle and crashes into the grass with a loud thump.

Gavin grimaces from his vantage point above them.

Lindsay races across the pitch and throws the quaffle through the left goal post. The keeper misses it by a mere inch and Lindsay lets out a loud whoop of delight.

A high-pitched, fluttering sound whizzes past Gavin’s ear and he startles. Whipping his head around, he finds the golden snitch hovering only a few feet in front of him. The snitch changes course, darting away, and Gavin rushes after it.

It changes direction again and Gavin lurches to the side, spinning out of control and colliding with Kyle.

“Hey! Watch it, man!” Kyle yells.

“S-sorry!”

The snitch rockets upwards and Gavin almost slips off his broom, tumbling into another chaser as he scrambles to follow it. At this point, the players are more scared of him than the bludgers. Gavin just hopes that Michael won’t club him to death.

The snitch drops closer to the ground and Gavin chases after it. He extends his arm as it skims across the grass, his fingers grazing against the cold metal. But he reaches too far and the broom handle slips from his grasp.

Gavin plummets to the ground, his hand closing around something solid as he faceplants into the mud. He rolls onto his back, wheezing.

The whistle shrieks through the confusion and footsteps thunder towards him, shaking the earth. He forces his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his skull.

Michael’s worried face swims into view. He kneels beside Gavin and grasps him by the collar.

“You fucking _idiot!_ You’re in the air for less than _five minutes_ and you almost break your goddamn neck!”

Gavin blinks, disoriented, unfurling his clenched left hand.

Michael falls silent.

Gavin looks down and sees the golden snitch resting in his open palm.

Blaine crouches down next to him, smiling. “You ready for another round?”

Gavin nods but the motion makes him nauseous. Michael loops an arm around his waist, hauling him off the grass.

“I’ll admit, that was the best, stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” Michael smiles at the look of glee painted across Gavin’s face. “Just—maybe try doing it with _less_ stupid next time.”

Gavin shakes his head, blinking hard to fend off the dizziness. “I don’t think that’s possible, Michael.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

Unsurprisingly, Kyle scores the majority of goals, never missing a shot. Lindsay follows closely with the second most points.

When Gavin isn’t falling off his broom or eating shit, he catches the snitch effortlessly – again after smacking into the stands and once more while accidentally knocking three players off their brooms.

Blaine calls the tryouts to a close, announcing that he’ll post the team list on the Gryffindor notice board in a few days. Gavin begins the long trek back to the common room with Michael and Lindsay at his side, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest.

**

Lindsay sighs, failing to keep the smile off her face, “ _…Hashtag YOLO swag sixty-nine._ ”

The portrait swings open and she shuffles through the circular entrance.

“Ray’s been fuckin’ with the password again, hasn’t he?” Michael says.

“Do you really have to ask?”

The common room is filled with warm light. Lindsay sinks into one of the armchairs by the fireplace, basking in the comforting heat. She unzips her schoolbag, pulls out her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells – Grade 3_ , and begins flicking through it.

Michael sits in the armchair beside her and Gavin flops down, face first, onto the two-seater opposite them.

They work for hours in companionable quiet, powering through week-late homework tasks and overly complex worksheets in the light of the fire. It isn’t long before the coffee table they’re working on becomes completely cluttered with textbooks and sheets of paper.

Gavin stares down at his Potions essay, nibbling absent-mindedly on his fingernails. His eyes scan sluggishly over the text, unable to decipher the black scrawl of ink. In the end, he gives up on trying to read the illegible handwriting, scrunching up the piece of paper and tossing it haphazardly into the fire. But, as he gazes into the flames, he notices the header _Michael Jones, 15/09/12_ crumbling into a pile of ash.

“…Michael,” he says timidly, as hot flames crawl over the ball of paper.

“What?” Michael’s brows furrow at Gavin’s horrified expression. “ _What?_ What did you do?” he repeats.

Michael glances down at the spot where his completed essay once lay. He spins around to the fireplace and his eyes widen in realisation. The scrunched-up paper hisses, flames engulfing his work. His gaze flickers back to Gavin and he stares at him, slack-jawed in disbelief.

“YOU FUCKING MORON!” Michael vaults out of his seat and tackles Gavin to the floor. Gavin lets out a surprised squawk and curls in on himself, shielding his body from the onslaught of thrashing limbs.

“YOU STUPID FUCK—”

“—Aaah, Michael!” Gavin shrieks.

Lindsay doubles over with laughter and Gavin screams as Michael pummels him senselessly. When Michael finally tires of hitting him, Gavin shoves him off, lying limply on his side like a beached whale. Michael staggers over to Lindsay, still livid, and sags into his armchair, placing his head in his hands.

Breathlessly, Gavin rolls onto his back. A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of Lindsay’s mouth, and he bolts upright.

“Oh God.”

He stumbles over to the table and rummages through the wasteland of papers, dropping to his knees when he realises his work isn’t among them.

“Lindsay, why?!” he howls.

“Why _what,_ Gavin?” Lindsay says innocently.

Gavin casts his eyes to the fireplace and his heart sinks as he watches fire consume his work.

“God _damn_ it, Lindsay!”

Michael bursts out laughing and Lindsay is in tears. Gavin headbutts the table, defeated.

**

It’s at twilight when Hogwarts truly comes alive.

The castle looms over Gavin, stone towers and spires piercing the still air. The dark blue of the sky dissipates into an empty black and an orange glow paints the horizon, washed with a pink hue. A chilling breeze stirs the cropped grass, dimly lit under the light of the fading sun.

They sneak out into the Training Grounds, brooms in hand.

Gavin’s green scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck and the collar of his grey, woollen sweater is upturned, sleeves pulled over his hands. Michael is dressed in his usual pair of torn jeans and a thick, red hoodie. The biting wind ruffles the tendrils of his hair.

“Okay, this should be far enough,” he says, and they stop in the middle of the field.

Gavin hops from one foot to the other, shaking with the cold. “But, _Michael_ , what if someone sees us? We’ll have detentions for the rest of our lives.” He can’t tell if his heart is pounding from excitement or dread.

“Don’t be a baby,” Michael teases. “C’mon, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“You’re the one who said we should do this at night. When it’s freezing,” Gavin says accusingly.

“Yeah, well the match against Slytherin’s in a month and you can’t fuckin’ fly straight. So, y’know… suck it up.”

Gavin sighs in resignation and mounts his broom. Michael follows suit and they kick off the grass, speeding into the air.

They circle around the field. Gavin manages to stay upright for the most part but, when Michael disappears from sight, he starts to wobble and ends up nose-diving straight into the ground.

Michael lands a few yards away and jogs over, concern evident in his expression.

“You okay, Gav?”

“Oww… my knee…” Gavin whines.

Michael takes that as a ‘Yes’ and, when Gavin finally stops complaining, they take to the skies again.

This time, Gavin manages to do a few laps of the Training Grounds before losing his grip on the broom handle and smacking into a stone turret.

“I don’t think controlling the broom is your problem,” Michael says thoughtfully, as he peels Gavin off the grass. “I think it’s keeping your balance.”

“I was born clumsy, Michael. Don’t think there’s a lot we can do about that.”

“…I do.”

Gavin raises an eyebrow quizzically. Michael pulls him to his feet but, even when they’re both standing upright, he doesn’t let go of Gavin’s hand. Gavin looks down at their entwined fingers and feels heat rising in his cheeks.

“What are you doing?” he breathes.

“Give me your other hand. I wanna try something.”

Gavin gently wraps his fingers around Michael’s palm. Michael guides Gavin back over to their brooms, still holding on even as Gavin mounts his own.

“When you kick off, just hover above the ground this time. Okay?”

Gavin nods nervously. He perches on his tip-toes and, when Michael counts to three, springs lightly off the grass. His heart leaps into his throat as his feet leave the ground and he wavers, struggling to find a centre of balance.

Michael holds onto him tightly, anchoring him to the earth.

Silence falls between them. Gavin keeps his eyes fixed on Michael and _only_ Michael. He counts every freckle dotting Michael’s cheeks and all the different shades of auburn in his hair. Gavin doesn’t even realise that he’s stopped shaking until Michael lets go of his hands and he sinks back to reality.

“There you go, boi! You’ve got it!” Michael beams, brighter than anything Gavin’s ever seen. “You’ve just gotta find something and hold onto it.”

Gavin stares at Michael, his heart stuttering in his chest. “Yeah… I think I have.”

Michael’s smile fades and he averts his gaze, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. A slight flush creeps along his neck.

The light in the one of the Herbology greenhouses goes out, plummeting them into a new kind of darkness.

“We should—uhh—go back inside. It’s getting kinda late,” Michael stammers.

“Yeah, we should,” Gavin says, determined to hide the note of disappointment in his voice.

They trudge back across the Training Grounds, a few inches of space separating their shoulders. The sun has set completely and the night sky adopts a navy-blue colour, interspersed with waves of purple and grey.

Footsteps patter against the stone walkway. Gavin turns to the main doors, about to enter the castle, when he hears a thudding sound.

Muffled grunts carry on the wind and, suddenly, it feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs.

He _knows_ that voice.

_“Gavin—wait!”_

He sprints down the walkway, shoes clattering noisily against the cobblestone. The thudding grows louder with every step Gavin takes. Each sound is met by a pained gasp or a low whimper. He quickens his pace, desperation clawing at his throat. Finally, he rounds the corner and his eyes land on a group of boys.

Most of them look older than Gavin but he recognises some of them from his year group. Their green and silver ties are striking under the moonlight. The tallest of the lot raises his hand and pounds it against the person crumpled at his feet. Gavin takes in his greasy, black hair and anger bubbles in his veins.

 _The prick._ Jake.

Ray lies at Jake’s feet, battered and bleeding and terrified, his face twisted into a look of agony.

Before Gavin realises what he’s doing, he storms over, covering the ground between them in a matter of strides. Jake doesn’t even have time to wipe the stupid smirk off his face as Gavin raises his fist and socks him in the jaw. Pain ripples through Gavin’s knuckles but the hot ache is overpowered by the satisfaction rising in his chest.

Jake careens backwards. He staggers into one of his Slytherin friends and is gruffly shoved back towards Gavin. His face contorts with outrage, hands balling into fists, and Gavin braces himself for the first punch when—

_“HEY!”_

Michael rounds the corner, his chest heaving. He stalks over to them, all bottled rage and carefully focused anger, and shoves Gavin out of the way.

Jake looks down at him, smiling maliciously.

“What’s up, Jones? You come to protect your _boyfriend?_ ”

Something flashes in Michael’s eyes. “Back off, asshole. You wanna pick on someone? How ’bout you pull that shit with me.”

Jake’s expression tightens. He glances back to his friends, pasting a smirk onto his sallow face.

“Maybe another time, Jones. Wouldn’t want to ruin your date.”

The Slytherins clear off. Jake slams his shoulder into Michael’s as he leaves and, for a second, Gavin thinks Michael will rip the prick’s head off.

When they’re finally alone, Michael darts over to Ray and offers his hand. Ray stares at it for a moment before slapping it away. He picks up his broken glasses off the floor, his fingers hovering over the bent frame and cracked lenses. An angry bruise is beginning to form under his eye, and his upper lip is swollen and bloody. Dark red trickles from his nose, dribbling down his chin.

Ray staggers to his feet, brushing the dirt off his jeans. He sways on the spot and Gavin forces down the urge to hold him.

“What happened? Why’d they do this to you, huh?” Michael asks, panic bleeding into his voice.

Ray’s eyes drop to his feet.

“Ray, _please._ ”

“…It… it’s been happening for about a year.”

Gavin inhales sharply, at a total loss for words. “…W-why?” he sputters.

“Guess…I guess no pure-blood wants a fucking useless, shit stain, _mudblood_ in Slytherin.” Ray spits out the slur like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

The air is grim with tension. Ray won’t even look at them and Michael trembles with anger.

“…You should’ve said something,” he says tightly.

Ray gulps down a mouthful of air. “No. I—you’ve got enough going on without having to deal with my shit, too.”

Michael takes a step away from Ray, hands clenched at his sides. Gavin’s chest aches at the heartbreak etched across his face.

“D’you…do you at least want us to walk you back to the common room?”

“No. I got it,” Ray says.

Michael nods, a small, unassuming twitch of his head. “Okay.”

And Ray turns away without another word.

Gavin is speechless. He starts forwards, words catching in his throat. But when he runs to catch up, Ray is already gone.

**

The Great Hall is buzzing with excitement.

Gavin steps through the oaken doors and scans the tables for Ray.

There’s no sign of him.

He sighs, shoulders slumping, and heads over to where Lindsay and the others are sitting. Michael follows behind him, dressed in a red and gold cape, his prescription goggles hanging around his neck.

Gavin takes a seat on an empty bench space, scooting along so that Michael has room to sit next to him. He fidgets with his arm guards, restlessly buckling and unbuckling the wrist straps with nervous hands.

“Have any of you seen Ray?” he asks.

Miles swallows down his mouthful of toast. “Nope. Sorry, man.”

“That’s weird. He wouldn’t miss a Gryffindor-Slytherin game for the world,” Barbara says.

Gavin runs a hand through his hair, guilt and anxiety eating away at him. “You don’t think he might’ve already been down to breakfast, do you?”

“Leave it, Gavin,” Michael grunts. It’s the first thing he’s said all morning.

Gavin gapes at him. “ _Leave it?_ Sod off. He’s our _friend_ , we’re supposed to help him!”

“Yeah, well maybe he doesn’t _want_ your help. D’you ever think of that?” Michael bites back.

Lindsay looks between the two of them, her forehead creased with worry.

“…Guys, what’s this about?”

“Nothing,” Michael says pointedly.

Gavin glares at him, aggressively shovelling a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

They eat in an uneasy silence, ignoring the lively conversations transpiring around them. Gavin downs a glass of orange juice and then another, the temptation to lock himself in the boys’ toilet for the rest of his miserable life growing rapidly in his mind.

The school bell rings and he bolts upright. “…I’m gonna piss myself.”

Miles’ laughter is equal parts amusement and nerves, and Barbara shakes her head, blonde hair falling around her face.

“C’mon, assholes,” Michael sighs. “We’ve got a game to win.”

They exit the Great Hall, marching through the corridors with their brooms slung over their shoulders.

Harsh sunlight glints across the quidditch pitch and Gavin shields his eyes. He swivels on the spot, staring up at the crowded stands towering over him. The baby blue sky is streaked with grey and the orange light of sunrise soaks through the clouds like warm honey.

When he spins back around, he trips and falls into something solid.

“Oof—”

Meg Turney turns to face him, adorned in a green and silver cape. Her new bright, turquoise hair flutters in the cool breeze, caramel eyes boring into Gavin’s.

“Sorry, love,” he says, flustered.

Meg smiles sweetly, flashing her blindingly white teeth. “I’m not your love.” She walks away, twirling her Nimbus Racing Broom above her head like a baton.

Lindsay lets out a low whistle. “ _Daaamn._ ”

The teams gather in a circle around Professor Oum, Slytherins on one side and Gryffindors on the other. Oum’s platinum blond hair reflects the sunlight so startlingly that Gavin’s eyes hurt just from looking at him. He wears a red, button-up shirt underneath a white blazer, and a pair of black fingerless gloves. A pale-yellow tie hangs from his collar.

“I’m not being biased or anything but, Slytherin, try not to win too quickly. And Gavin…” Gavin smiles at Professor Oum eagerly. “Try not to foul your own teammates.”

“That was _one time!_ ” Gavin squeaks.

Michael lets out a loud laugh and Meg smirks at Gavin from across the pitch.

“…Actually, it was three times,” Lindsay says.

Gavin folds his arms across his chest, sulking. “Thanks, Linds.”

He rolls his eyes, his attention flickering to the Slytherin team, and he does a double take. Jake is standing with a pompous grin plastered to his face, the broom handle of his Cleansweep resting on his shoulder.

Suddenly, Gavin is more motivated than ever to win this game. And if he _accidentally_ crashes into that pisspot while he’s at it then, well, that’s two birds with one bludger.

A raspy voice rings over the stadium speakers, followed by the high-pitched shriek of a microphone.

_“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE FIRST MATCH OF THE 2012 QUIDDITCH SEASON—THE ONE NO ONE’S BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE HUFFLEPUFF ISN’T PLAYING—GRYFFINDOR VERSUS SLYTHERIN!”_

Geoff’s words echo across the pitch and Gavin grimaces.

 _“IN THE RED CORNER, CAPTAIN OF THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM WITH BICEPS BIG ENOUGH TO BENCH-PRESS PROFESSOR PATTILLO, IT’S BLAINE GIBSON!”_ The Gryffindor spectators cheer madly. _“LADIES AND GENTS, HE’S SINGLE,”_ Geoff adds.

Blaine blushes bright red and Kyle slaps him heartily on the back.

_“AAAND IN THE GREEN CORNER, CAPTAIN OF THE SLYTHERIN TEAM AT THE YOUNG AGE OF FOURTEEN, DON’T PISS HER OFF OR SHE’LL BREAK YOUR FACE: MEG TURNEY, EVERYBODY!”_

Meg waves to the crowd of cheering Slytherins, smiling widely, and Gavin feels his knees go weak.

_“Professor Ramsey—”_

_“—AND HERE’S PROFESSOR PATTILLO, ALREADY RAINING ON MY PARADE.”_ Geoff reluctantly hands the mic over to Pattillo, who continues the commentary while Professor Oum sets up the pitch.

When Oum returns, it’s with a large, leather briefcase. He places it on the grass and withdraws a slim, curved wand from his blazer pocket. With a flick of his wrist, the briefcase’s latches fly open.

Two bludgers shoot into the air, whizzing around the pitch at a frightening speed. The golden snitch is the next to follow, darting out of the case and hovering above the ground before zipping across the pitch. Gavin loses sight of it immediately.

Professor Oum crouches down and plucks the quaffle out of the briefcase. He spins it expertly on the tip of his index finger.

“Everyone, into your positions.”

Gavin kicks off the ground and sails into the air. The players form a circle around Professor Oum, waiting silently with anticipation.

Oum launches the quaffle into the air and the game begins.

A mosh pit ensues. Chasers claw at each other to reach the ball, but Gavin turns tail and flees from the chaos, milling around the stadium in search of the golden snitch. He feels steady on his broom, his back straight and his fingers wrapped firmly around the handle as he glides through the air.

In the distance, Gavin spots the Slytherin seeker drifting near the edge of the pitch. The seeker’s black, shoulder-length hair whips around his handsome face, stirred by the wind, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings. Gavin leans forward and swoops over to him.

“Oi, Risemonger! See anything you like?”

Jon turns his broom to face him, tilting his head in confusion, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Obviously!” Gavin smirks. “No, seriously though. Have you seen the snitch yet?”

“Why would I tell _you?_ ” Jon says with a laugh.

“Eh, it was worth a shot.”

Geoff’s voice booms over the speakers, making Gavin jump.

_“TUGGEY CATCHES THE QUAFFLE, PASSES IT TO GIBSON. GIBSON THROWS TO TAYLOR BUT IT’S INTERCEPTED BY TURNEY—AAAND TURNEY SCORES! THAT WAS BRUTAL!”_

_“That makes it forty-ten to Slytherin,”_ Professor Pattillo says. The eye-roll in his voice is practically audible – Geoff often has that effect on people.

A flicker of gold appears in the corner of Gavin’s eye and he tenses. Ducking, he pulls away from Jon and speeds after it.

Wind lashes against his skin, whistling in his ears and rippling his cape behind him. Jon follows closely, mimicking Gavin’s every move with near perfect precision. The two of them tail the snitch, rocketing around the stadium, when Jon screeches to a halt.

A flash of sunlight glints across an iron ball and Gavin seizes up.

Jon dives out of the bludger’s path, swerving to the left. A burst of red darts to Gavin’s right and the resounding crack of metal colliding with wood pierces the air.

Michael launches the bludger to the other side of the pitch with a hefty swing. He lowers his beater’s bat, swiping his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his jersey.

“Cheers, boi!” Gavin says brightly, as though he didn’t just narrowly avoid getting his head caved in.

Michael doesn’t smile, still on high-alert. “Thank me when we win.”

A quarter of an hour passes before Gavin catches another glimpse of gold. Jon is closing in on the snitch, skirting around the far end if the pitch, and Gavin throws himself between them. He dodges another aimed bludger and weaves in between a pair of Slytherin chasers. The cold air stings his eyes, making them water, but he squints through the tears.

Gavin leans further across his broom, diving into Jon and almost knocking him out of the air.

“H-hey! Play fair, asshole!”

“Sorry, Jon—but I’ve got to win!”

Jon shoves back and Gavin loses his balance, dipping to the left and narrowly avoiding the Slytherin keeper. Gavin angles his broom upwards as the snitch dashes towards the sky, and Jon’s eyes follow, failing to see the goal post straight ahead of him.

Gavin doesn’t have to look. The crunch of metal and bone rings through the stadium and Jon plummets to the ground.

_“OOH, THAT’S GOTTA HURT!”_

_“Looks like Risinger’s down for the count.”_

Gavin pushes the commentary to the back of his mind, desperate to ignore the twinge of guilt pulling at his heartstrings. He chases after the snitch, his broom completely vertical to the clear sky above him, and extends his arm.

Everything seems to slow down. It’s as if he can count each of the snitch’s individual wingbeats, golden feathers fluttering delicately.

Gavin’s fingers stretch, knuckles cracking as he reaches with all his might. He leans forwards, his thighs lifting off the broom handle, and lunges until he feels the tiny ball connect with his palm. Closing his fingers around it, he swoops back down to the ground, his broom wobbling dangerously beneath him.

Gavin comes to a running stop. He feels more unsteady on his feet than he did in the air, his shoes dragging against the short grass. Heart racing, he sinks to his knees and thrusts the golden snitch above his bowed head.

_“WAIT—IT LOOKS LIKE GAVIN FREE’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!”_

The stadium fills with applause and delighted cheers. Gavin can hear the distinct sound of Professor Sorola screaming with joy.

It isn’t long before the rest of the Gryffindor team has landed, joining in with the celebration. Lindsay wrestles Blaine into an overexcited headlock and Kyle literally jumps on his back. The Slytherin team claps for them good-naturedly but it’s the look of disgust on Jake’s face that truly makes Gavin’s heart sing.

Footsteps approach from behind him and he clambers to his feet. Spinning around, he spots Michael sprinting towards him.

“Michael, boi!” he crows happily.

“Gavvy!”

Michael runs into his open arms and embraces him, lifting Gavin off his feet. They twirl across the pitch until Michael loses his balance and they crash into a heap on the ground, Gavin resting his chin on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael pulls away, his toothy grin stretching from ear-to-ear. He’s blushing. Pink dusts his pale, freckled cheeks.

Gavin gives him an honest smile, a familiar warmth swirling in his stomach.

“We won the game, Michael.”

“I _know_ , I was there!”

“So…” Gavin looks away, suddenly embarrassed. “Thank you.”

Michael pauses for a moment, confusion flickering across his expression. Then he remembers.

_Thank me when we win._

“You’re welcome, idiot,” he beams, and he hugs Gavin again.

**

Time passes.

The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game arrives sooner than Gavin could’ve expected. He would say time flies when you’re having fun but, ever since Ray’s disappearance, there hasn’t been much of that going around.

Rain pours from the dreary sky. The wind roars around Gavin, fierce and untameable, and he can hardly see three feet in front of him. His goggles are flecked with water and his hands are raw, frozen to the handle of his broom.

Over an hour has passed since the game began and the Hufflepuff team shows no sign of relenting. With Adam as their keeper, it’s practically impossible for Gryffindor’s chasers to get the quaffle anywhere near him. The score reaches 160-70 to Hufflepuff and Gavin starts to lose hope.

Then, it happens.

Michael isn’t paying attention, drifting around the pitch as the match rages around him. It’s only when the bludger is inches away that he finally reacts.

His scream breaks through the disarray.

Gavin feels his blood freeze over, and all he can do is watch as Michael falls out of the sky, limp and broken and tumbling towards the earth.

Gavin catches the snitch moments after. One thought rattles inside his frantic mind, louder than the all the rest, repeating over and over like a mantra.

He _has_ to get to Michael.

More time passes.

Gavin is in the hospital wing, perched stiffly on the edge of Michael’s bed. He doesn’t think it’s a sight he’ll ever forget – Michael lying motionless, pale and fragile and so small, bandages wrapped around his broken arm.

Thunder grumbles through the thick air. Lightning strikes. A bolt flashes across the tiled floor and Gavin sees Ray.

Panicking, he bolts upright and topples onto the tiled floor. When the light fades, Ray fades with it, disappearing from the empty doorway like a spectre.

**

The sun is gentle against Gavin’s face, delicate beams of gold caressing his tan skin. It’s mid-spring. Gavin is strolling across the Transfiguration Courtyard, Michael and Lindsay close behind him, when he hears that voice _–_ smarmy and jeering and full of disgust.

“ _Fucking mudblood._ ”

Ray stands in the centre of the courtyard, hands clenched into trembling fists by his sides.

Jake advances on him, a predator circling his prey.

“Scum like you are dragging Slytherin through the dirt.”

Ray’s eyes flash with indignation. “You cunts are doing a pretty good job at that yourselves.”

Jake smiles coldly. “You’re funny, Junior. Won’t be laughing for long though.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

Jake turns from Ray, his dark eyes locking with Gavin’s.

“Because your _mudblood_ friend is next.”

A moment passes, flickering like a lonely streak of sunlight amid a hailstorm. Jake stares Ray down, silent, waiting for a reaction. Then the tension shatters.

Ray takes a breath, winds back and slams his fist into Jake’s stomach. Jake wheezes, doubling over. His lips curl into a snarl and he finds his balance, swiftly launching his fist into Ray’s cheekbone.

Gavin starts forward as Ray hits the ground. Blood pounds in his ears.

Lindsay calls after him and he hesitates, stumbling. When Gavin turns back to the fight, Michael is already there.

Howling with anger, he tackles Jake, straddling his waist and pounding him with his weak arm until his knuckles are bruised and bleeding. Eventually, Professor Pattillo and Professor Haywood pull them apart – Jake clutching his bloody nose and Michael screaming profanities.

Buried under the shouting and the turmoil, Gavin hears Lindsay’s voice.

She’s clutching onto Ray’s hand, her eyes wide and welling with tears.

“Ray, please! _Talk_ to me—you’re my best friend! I want to help! What’s going on?!”

Ray pulls his hand away and smiles weakly.

“Nothing.”

**

The Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match ends with Gavin holding the golden snitch in his hand.

Cheers fill the stadium, banners waving wildly and students jumping up and down.

The commentary suddenly stops, meaning Geoff has either blown out the speakers with his manic yelling, or died. Most likely cause of death: Professor Pattillo.

Gavin stares up at the stands. The ripples of red, yellow, blue and green form an ocean of colour. But none of that matters, because Ray is standing on top of a bench in the Slytherin sector, waving a crappy, handmade Gryffindor banner above his head.

He’s smiling, bright and proud, and Gavin manages to smile too.

**

Loud music blares around him.

Bowls filled with crisps and dips are laid out on a long, wooden table. Red and gold decorations line the common room, banners hanging from the ceiling. Balloons bounce across the carpeted floor, which is littered with bottles of pop and empty, white plastic cups.

Gavin’s eyes light up as he takes in the excited throng of people.

Katy Perry blasts from the speakers and Lindsay dances insanely, dragging a giggling Barbara with her. Kerry and Miles waltz dramatically across the makeshift dancefloor. Gavin can’t help but laugh as Kerry tries to dip Miles and ends up falling on his arse, Miles landing on top of him.

The other Gryffindors surround them, laughing and eating and simply enjoying the party.

Gavin’s eyes land on Michael and he feels his smile widen. Michael’s dressed in his usual pair of torn jeans, wearing a faded Weird Sisters t-shirt under an unbuttoned, checked shirt. His easy smile lights up the room and he sways to the pop music, plastic cup in hand.

Gavin can’t remember the last time he looked this happy.

“ _What?_ ”

Michael is smiling at him, albeit a little confusedly.

“Nothin’,” Gavin says, determined to be nonchalant. “Just watching you dance like an awkward idiot.”

“Gee. Thanks, Gavin,” Michael says dryly.

“My pleasure.”

Something thumps Gavin on the back and he jumps violently, letting out a frightened “Christ!” and snapping his head around.

“ _Gaviiin!_ ” Kyle cheers. He seems drunk.

Gavin smells his breath.

Yep, definitely drunk.

Kyle rings an arm around Gavin’s waist, far too close for comfort. “Y’know, everyone thought you were kinda shit when you first showed up to quidditch practice. I thought Blaine had lost his damn mind, but— _man_ —you really pulled it outta the bag.”

“Uhh, thanks…? I guess?”

“Hey! Maybe next season you could leave catching the snitch ’til the last minute. I’ve got a reputation to keep up, after all. Can’t have you scoring all the points for us.”

“Leave the kid alone, Kyle.”

Blaine appears beside him, wearing a grey button-up shirt and an amused smile. “Say what you want, but Brandon doubled your score in the first five minutes.”

“You’re the one in goal, jackass!” Kyle argues.

“Yeah, yeah.” Blaine bats a hand. “Anyway, I meant to tell you guys, there’s a friend of yours outside. Says he wants to talk to you.”

 “Oh yeah,” Kyle says. “The skinny dude with black hair. Had a surname like _Narvaros_ or something. What is it? Greek…?”

Gavin and Michael share a look.

 “…Piss,” Gavin curses.

Michael shoulders his way over to the exit, pushing past dancing lunatics and tipsy Seventh Years. Gavin follows closely behind him and, suddenly, the crowd of students isn’t inviting. It’s suffocating.

Michael swings the portrait door open and nearly smacks Ray in the face with it.

“Shit!” Ray yells, hands clutching his chest in terror. “Christ, man. You could at least give a guy a warning.” His face is painted with dark bruises and there are bags under his eyes, but he’s smiling, if only a little.

Michael snorts, his lips upturning in a satisfied grin. “Y’know, you’re not supposed to show up to the victory party if you lost.”

“Doesn’t count if I’m not on the team.”

“There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’, Ray.”

“Yeah, well there’s no ‘Ray’ either.”

Gavin isn’t able to do much more than stand there, watching the interaction in silent disbelief. Part of him is furious beyond words and the rest of him feels like crying. Ray must notice his expression because the small smile on his face disappears.

“…I’ve been a real piece of shit, huh?”

“You don’t need me to tell you that,” Gavin says bitterly.

Michael looks between the two of them, sighing through his nose.

“C’mere, idiot.”

He hugs Ray. Arms wrap around small shoulders and Michael buries his nose in the crook of Ray’s neck. Ray sags into the touch. His head droops and his arms fold around Michael’s waist.

“I should’ve told you. I’m s-sorry, man,” he sobs, breath hitching in his throat.

Gavin joins the embrace, enveloping them both in his arms. He rests his forehead against Ray’s shoulder.

“We know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have edited this motherfucker so many goddamn times and im Done just take it im gonna go lie down for a thousand years good b y e


	4. Friday 6th December 2013

Red tinsel outlines the Gryffindor table. Floating candles glow white and gold as they drift across the hall, a result of Professor Sorola’s festive enchantment.

A beautiful, dark green Christmas tree stands proudly beside the High Table. Professor O’Connell cut it down herself, and Geoff eagerly decorated it with twinkling fairy lights, glittering baubles and ribbons of tinsel – one colour for each of the houses. In an attempt to place the star at the top of the tree, Geoff dragged Professor Haywood into giving him a piggyback. It ended as disastrously as one might expect and Geoff spent the rest of the day picking pine needles out of his moustache.

Snow falls in thick clusters from the ashen sky. Flakes of white cascade towards the Great Hall, disappearing the moment they seem close enough to touch the enchanted ceiling.

Gavin lifts his bowl of Cookie Crisp to his lips. He slurps the leftover chocolatey milk, careful not to spill any on his Christmas jumper. Its colour is the same dark green as the Christmas tree; a large snowman is stitched into the fabric, a carrot nose jutting out of its head and its mouth stretching in a button smile. Gavin readjusts his reindeer antler headband and plucks an apple out of the fruit bowl.

“That jumper’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Gavin turns to Michael, head wagging so that the bronze bells on his antlers jingle shrilly.

“Sorry, boi. I can’t hear you over the sound of Christmas,” he grins.

“Christmas sucks.”

Lindsay gasps. “Blasphemy!” She then takes a flashing, red ball out of her pocket and clamps it onto Michael’s nose.

Michael pouts childishly. “I hate you guys.”

His voice is affectionate despite his supposed annoyance and, if those words came from anyone else, Gavin doesn’t think he would enjoy hearing them quite so much. He can’t help but smile, repressing the urge to pinch Michael’s cheek.

“You’d make an adorable Rudolph, Michael.”

“Shut up,” Michael grumbles.

The bell sounds, loud and grating.

Gavin rises to his feet. They exit the Great Hall, stepping through the oaken doors and out into the crowded corridor.

Bunches of mistletoe hang from the ceiling, tied together with silk, red ribbons. Gavin nonchalantly steps a little closer to Michael as they pass under the dangling leaves, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice.

They’re only five minutes late when they finally reach the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Geoff smiles at them as they enter, twirling his wand casually in his tattooed hand.

“Hi, Geoff.” Gavin greets with a toothy grin.

“Hey, Gavver,” Geoff says brightly.

“G’morning, Professor Ramsey,” Michael and Lindsay chorus.

“Morning. Michael, sweet nose.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sir.”

Geoff chuckles fondly. He then paces to the front of the classroom and taps the stone wall behind him with his wand. The bricks peel away to reveal a large screen, which lights up, revealing the focus of their lesson.

_The Reductor Curse._

“Alright, if everybody shut ups, we can get started. Today’s lesson is—”

There’s a soft knock at the door.

Geoff pauses, frowning as his train of thought screeches to a halt. He bounds over and swings the door open, giving the First Year standing on the other side a heart-attack.

The student lets out a frightened squeak and scurries into the room. They thrust a crumpled piece of paper into Geoff’s hand before exiting just as quickly as they entered, the class cooing at them patronisingly on their way out.

Geoff unfolds the scroll of paper. “Huh, a note from—” he squints at the small writing, “Professor Hullum… _A reminder to all students that hanging decorations from The Whomping Willow is strictly forbidden. Three students were hospitalized last year for attempting it—_ blah blah blah, don’t be a dumbass.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that,” Gavin muses.

“Fuckin’ Kara. What a moron,” Michael says.

Geoff scrunches up the note and tosses it behind him. It hits the rim of the bin and bounces onto the floor.

“Goddamn kids,” he mutters. “…Where was I?”

“Something about Reductor,” Gavin says helpfully.

“Thanks, buddy.” Geoff beams. “Oh—but take off that jumper. School uniform policy ‘n’ all.”

“But, Geoff—”

“ _Off_ , Gavin.”

Gavin reluctantly shrugs out of his Christmas jumper. Geoff continues to stare at him until he stuffs it into his bag and tugs off his reindeer antlers as well. Pettily, Gavin yanks the red ball off Michael’s nose and lobs it into the bin.

“Nice shot,” Michael says, stifling a laugh.

“Sod off.”

“Alright!” Geoff claps loudly, bringing the class to attention. “Did everybody do the homework I set?”

Silence.

Gavin imagines a tumbleweed rolling past.

“Thought not. Guess we’ll start from scratch then.”

They crawl sluggishly through the theory, watching Geoff flick through his PowerPoint presentation. Gavin almost falls asleep in places. He glances wearily to the back of the classroom and sees Ray sitting upright, attentive, his eyes fixated on the screen.

Geoff eventually announces that it’s time for a practical exercise and Gavin shakes free of his stupor.

With a flourish of his wand, Geoff scoots the tables to the outer edges of the room. The class forms a jumbled line in front of him, all of them fighting to stand at the front. Somehow, Jon ends up first in line, looking like it’s the last place on Earth he’d want to be.

Geoff taps a wooden tile in the floor with his shoe, and Gavin half expects him to start a musical number. A great, mechanical dummy springs out of the ground, veering towards the students on its rickety wheels.

Jon stumbles back. He raises his wand and points it stiffly at the dummy’s head.

Geoff pauses, as though he’s trying to remember something extremely important. Then he raises one finger with an exclamation of “Aha,” and slots his own wand into the dummy’s hand.

“Alright, Risinger. Give it your best shot.”

Jon flaps his arm wildly.

“ _Reducto!”_

A pale blue flash shoots from his wand and spirals into the pot of pencils on Geoff’s desk, completely obliterating it. The class roars with laughter, Michael pounding Jon heartily on the back as Geoff sweeps the broken mess of stationary into the corner of the room.

“Sorry, Professor,” Jon says abashedly.

“’S okay, kid. Try not to give it so much gusto.”

Lindsay is next. She manages to blast the dummy’s arm off before it has the chance to disarm her. Geoff shouts his praise and Lindsay returns to the back of the queue with a pleased look on her face.

The following students are just as unfortunate as Jon. Sparks of blue whizz around the classroom, wrecking the stone walls and tearing up the floor. Geoff has to duck under Gavin’s reductor curse, barely saving himself from losing more hair than he already has.

Ray is the last to go. He steps in front of the battered dummy and angles his body to the side. The class murmurs quietly among themselves. Even Jake is watching intently.

Ray aims his wand at the dummy’s rigid chest and exhales a breath. He flicks his arm and the tension explodes.

A jet of blue light erupts from the tip of his wand, striking the dummy square in the chest. The dummy shatters, bursting into thousands of tiny pieces that sift slowly through the metal grate in the floor.

Silence encases the room as everyone gapes at Ray.

“Amazing! That was _incredible!_ ” Geoff gushes, thumping Ray on the back. “Well done, kid. Ten points to Slytherin.”

The bell rings and the queue disbands, returning to their seats to pack their things away. Gavin catches Jake amongst the excited chatter, lingering by Ray’s desk. Something in Gavin tightens, coiling like a spring, but Jake looks oddly nervous, fiddling with a pencil as he rocks gently on his toes.

Ray finally notices Jake and the bravado reappears.

“Not bad, Ray.” His words are unusually genuine. A small smile settles on his face, which he quickly fixes into a smirk.

Ray looks taken aback. “First you’re punching me and now you’re complementing me? I’m getting mixed signals here.”

“Yeah, well—”

Jake spots Gavin watching him and tenses. His eyes flit between them, frantic.

“Look, man. I—my parents… I didn’t _think_ —” His gaze flickers back to Gavin. “I’m sorry.” And he bolts, escaping from the classroom with his head bowed and his pure-blood cronies nowhere in sight.

Gavin jogs over to Ray.

“What the eff was _that_ about?”

Ray stares after Jake’s disappearing form, his fingers tracing absently over his cheek.

“I don’t know.”

**

The following weeks pass at an astonishing rate, blurring into one tangled memory.

It’s Christmas Eve and Gavin finds himself sitting alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, Michael’s beater’s bat resting in his lap.

Gentle flames illuminate the room and the world outside is muted, snow cascading past frosted windows. The soft crackling of the fire warms the silence.

_“…What are you doing?”_

Gavin leaps out of his seat, eliciting a noise akin to a dying budgie. Michael’s bat rolls onto the floor with a loud clunk.

“Bollocking hell, Michael! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Michael regards him suspiciously, eyebrows quirked. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’m—” Gavin cards a hand through his messy hair. “I’m ambushing Santa Clause,” he says sheepishly. He receives nothing but a blank look from Michael in return. “…You do have Santa in the wizarding world, right?”

Michael folds his arms across his chest. “Well, sure, but he’s just some made-up story parents tell their kids to scare ’em into eating their broccoli.”

“ _Scare…?_ ”

“Duh. Kidnapper, present thief, feeds on the souls of small children.” Michael counts each atrocity on his fingers.

Gavin is stunned. _Present thief?_ How barbaric.

Michael’s brows furrow, confused. “But, I thought you liked Christmas?”

“Christmas, yeah. But not Santa,” Gavin says resolutely. “Besides, Western Santa is really just a capitalist scheme to commercialise a religious holiday. You know, Jesus wasn’t _actually_ born in December, we only celebrate it then ’cause it coincides with the Pagan Winter Solstice.”

“Whoa. You’re blowing my mind,” Michael smirks. “So, you’re gonna bludgeon him to death? ’S a bit harsh.”

“The jolly prick never got me that bike I asked for when I was seven.”

“Ah. Perfectly reasonable.” Michael picks his bat up off the floor and sits down beside Gavin on the two-seater.

He must notice the puzzled expression on Gavin’s face because he smiles, amicably knocking their knees together. “No way am I letting you fight him alone. Your little arms would snap off.”

“Alright, knobhead. Remember that time I beat you in an arm wrestle?” Gavin says, flicking Michael’s forehead.

“I let you win.”

“Of course you did.”

They stay up long past midnight, chatting until the early hours of the morning. All thoughts of assassinating Father Christmas disappear from Gavin’s mind, lost in his seamless conversation with Michael.

Eventually, dawn washes out the blackness of the night sky and the blackbird’s chorus drifts through the morning air.

Gavin’s eyes flutter open. He blinks groggily, glancing at the fireplace. The roaring flames have diminished into small embers. He feels a stickiness on his chin and tries to lift his hand to wipe the drool away, but something is pinning his arm down. Slowly, his gaze wanders to his numb arm and he sees Michael, curled around him, still fast asleep.

Gavin is wide awake now.

He gawks at Michael’s still form, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Michael’s limbs are tangled with his own and cushions are scattered across the carpet.

 _What the hell did I do?_ Gavin thinks, caught in a panic.

He manages to manoeuvre himself onto his back but Michael’s weight presses heavily against his chest, his nose buried in the crook of Gavin’s neck. His hair smells of coconut shampoo and Gavin wants to _die_ right there.

“Michael,” he whispers.

Michael shifts against him, draping an arm across his waist.

Gavin’s breath catches in his throat. Determined to keep his soul _inside_ his body, he attacks Michael’s cheek with an onslaught of rapid-fire poking.

“ _Michael._ Get up, you lazy tosser.”

Michael’s eyes finally open. He looks up at Gavin through his lashes, his warm breath ghosting across Gavin’s skin. Then, his eyes widen and Gavin feels his heart stop.

Michael hastily untangles himself. He veers backwards, resting on his haunches so that Gavin can clamber out from underneath him. An awkward silence hangs between them and Gavin fights the urge to run and lock himself in the bathroom.

“Gavin,” Michael says softly.

Gavin’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yes, Michael?”

“…We didn’t kill Santa.”

Relief bubbles in Gavin’s chest and he lets out a breathy laugh. Michael smiles at him, awkward and endeared and stunning.

“No, I guess not. We’ll just have to try again next year.”

_Next year…_

It suddenly dawns on Gavin that it’s no longer Christmas Eve. He springs off the sofa and bounces gleefully in the centre of the common room. Michael stands up too, looking more confused than excited.

Gavin grabs his face, smushing his freckled cheeks together. “Michael!”

“ _Wha’?_ ”

“It’s Christmas!”

“ _Yeah. I go’ tha’,_ ” Michael pries Gavin’s hands off his face. “Get off me, you goddamn lunatic.”

Gavin grins brightly and latches onto Michael’s wrist instead. He pulls Michael upstairs, kicking open the door to the Boys’ Dormitories. It swings wildly on its hinges and crashes into the wall.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Gavin—people are trying to sleep.”

But the dorms are completely empty. Light pours through the windows, warming the wooden tiles beneath their feet. Dust motes drift in the still air, illuminated by bright rays of sunshine.

“Or not…?”

Gavin drags Michael over to his bed and all but shoves him onto the mattress. He doesn’t mention how adorable it is that, sitting upright, Michael’s feet don’t quite reach the floor.

“What’re we doing now?” Michael asks sceptically.

“Finding your present,” Gavin says. He rummages through his suitcase, tossing clothes and towels and old socks behind him.

“You…you got me a present?” Michael’s voice is very small, and Gavin frowns.

“’Course I did.” He withdraws a small box from a silver plastic bag and places it in Michael’s lap.

Michael stares at it, dazed. “But—Gavin, we never do Christmas presents. I didn’t get you anything!”

“That’s because you’re always a miserable git about the whole thing. And, don’t worry about it, I already bought myself a gift _for_ you.”

Michael smiles a little at that. “Yeah? What’d I get you?”

“A polaroid camera,” Gavin says plainly, as though Michael has any idea what that means. “You have excellent taste.”

“Damn straight.” Michael remains deathly still, his present sitting in his lap.

“Well, open it, you doughnut!”

“Oh—right.” Cautiously, Michael tugs the ribbon wrapped around the box and opens the lid. A white rectangle sits inside. He picks it up, twisting it curiously in his hands. After a long moment, he pries then rectangle open, his fingers brushing over buttons that protrude from the surface.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice filled with child-like wonder.

“A DS,” Gavin says. “It’s a little handheld device that muggles use to play games. You said you’d never played a videogame before so I thought you might like it.” He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as Michael continues to gape at his present. “…Please say something.”

“Christ, Gav! How much did this cost?”

Well, that wasn’t entirely the reaction Gavin was expecting.

“Umm… nothing, actually.”

“ _Gavin.”_

“Nothing, I swear! It’s my old one. I don’t use it anymore because my aunt got me a DS Lite… That doesn’t sound cheap, does it?”

Michael lets out a laugh. “No, no. It’s perfect. Thanks, Gav.”

“You’re very welcome.” Gavin smiles earnestly. “Since both of us have one, we can play games together.” He gathers a handful of small cartridges from the plastic bag. “I’ve got two copies of Mario Kart and Mario Party. And I swear, Michael, you’re going to _love_ Pokémon.”

Michael takes two of the cartridges out of Gavin’s open palm, handling them with extreme care.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about but it sounds goddamn awesome.”

**

Michael stays wrapped up in his new DS for hours. The two of them hardly talk but Gavin doesn’t mind because watching Michael play is more enjoyable than he could’ve ever imagined: the way Michael goes completely still, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip when he’s concentrating or how he turns the DS itself when he’s playing Mario Kart, under the illusion that it will somehow make him steer better.

His running commentary floats through the Boys’ Dormitory, a quiet stream of sarcastic comments and mumbled swear words. Gavin doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be listening, but he hears every word and it makes his stomach all warm and fuzzy – a sensation he’s grown accustomed to feeling around Michael.

For the first Christmas since Gavin’s known him, Michael looks genuinely happy.

Gavin doesn’t want it to end.

They don’t emerge from the Boys’ Dorm until four in the afternoon. Gavin’s tummy had started to growl and, after an hour of patiently waiting for Michael to finish his _“last game—C’mon, Gav, this is the last one. I promise,”_ Gavin gave up and simply dragged him down to the Great Hall.

The aroma of cooked turkey and roasted potatoes floods Gavin’s senses and his mouth waters.

Spotting his friends at the Gryffindor table, he wipes the saliva off his chin and leads Michael over to sit with them. Michael is still immersed in his game, staring intently at the DS screen, and Gavin has to hold his hand to keep him from bumping into things. Not that Gavin particularly minds – Michael’s hands are very soft, after all.

As they take their seats, Barbara gulps down her mouthful of turkey and points her fork at them accusingly.

“Where the hell _were_ you guys?”

Michael doesn’t look up from his game, ignoring Barbara’s apparent irritation.

“Yeah, dude. We were up at friggin’ ten AM waiting for you,” Kerry says, setting down his cutlery to glare at Gavin. He actually looks kind of pissed off. It doesn’t suit him.

“Sorry, guys,” Gavin says guiltily, leaning over Ray to grab a handful of pigs in blankets from the platter, “Me and Michael were—”

“Oh, _you and Michael,_ eh?” Lindsay interrupts, elbowing Barbara in the side. Barbara lets out a high-pitched “Hey!” but Lindsay doesn’t notice, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Gavin’s fork misses his mouth entirely, grazing his cheek.

He thinks back to the morning, waking up with Michael’s arms wrapped around his torso and warm breath tickling his neck… Heat rises in his cheeks. Lindsay must have seen them – _of course_ she did. Hell, the whole of Gryffindor probably knew by now.

“Him and Michael?” Miles asks, failing to catch on.

“Oh, him and _Michael,_ ” Barbara grins knowingly, elbowing Lindsay back.

Michael doesn’t spare any of them a glance, clearly finding his current Pokémon battle to be more important.

Gavin blushes furiously. “Bog off.” He tugs his jumper further up his neck, wishing it would hide the sensation he felt ghosting across his skin that morning.

“I’m just saying, next time you and Michael want some _alone time,_ let us know first,” Lindsay says casually. She actually inserted air quotes around ‘alone time’ – the cheeky sod.

“Yeah, especially if it’s on Christmas,” Kerry adds.

Gavin nods and Lindsay drops the conversation, apparently deciding that his reaction was enough.

“Hey, Gav.”

Gavin’s attention snaps back to Michael. “Yeah?”

“I dunno what move to use on this Morty guy. He’s got a Gengar or some shit.”

8-bit music blares from Michael’s DS, drowned out by the usual chatter of the hall. Gavin leans over to peer at Michael’s screen. A pixelated mass of purple –  the Gym Leader’s Gengar – sneers at a rather timid-looking bear Pokémon.

“Really Michael?  A Teddiursa? Most of your moves won’t even _touch_ it.”

Michael pulls his DS away from Gavin. “Why the fuck not?” he asks defensively.

Gavin sighs, deciding that it isn’t worth trying to explain type effectiveness to Michael for the fifth bloody time. He scoots closer to Michael and snatches the gaming device out of his hands, ignoring Michael’s indignant shouts of “Give it back, asshole!” as he scrolls through Teddiursa’s moves.

After fending off Michael’s attempt to wrestle him, Gavin hands the DS back, poking Michael with the tip of the stylus before placing it in his open palm.

“Use Feint Attack. That should kill it.”

“Awesome. Thanks, boi.”

“And Michael…”

Michael simply hums, too busy tapping buttons to formulate a coherent response.

“You do realise that you named your Teddiursa ‘Cuddles’, right?” Gavin relishes the faint blush of embarrassment that dusts Michael’s cheeks.

“S-so?”

“It’s a _bloody_ —! Never mind… Just wait ’til it reaches level thirty.”

Michael clucks his tongue like a disgruntled anime protagonist and ignores Gavin’s further attempts at teasing him. Losing his source of entertainment, Gavin shovels some potatoes down his throat and turns his gaze on Ray.

Ray – who has been staring at the Slytherin table for the _entire_ time Gavin’s been down here. He keeps glancing wistfully at Jake and then turning away when the other boy meets his eyes. Gavin watches the awkward interaction repeat itself half a dozen more times before finally losing his patience.

“Ray,” he prods Ray’s cheek when he still doesn’t look away from Jake. “Oi! Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about _forgiving_ him? After all the shit he put you through.”

Ray is looking at Gavin now and his eyes are wide.

“What—? No… No—I’m not.”

Gavin frowns like a scolding mother.

“I’m _not,_ Gavin,” Ray visibly swallows, averting his gaze from Gavin’s intense glare. “It’s just really hard to hate someone after you realise they hate themself, too.”

Gavin’s expression softens. No matter how hard he tries to summon images of Jake’s brutish behaviour, all he can see is a scared, pathetic boy, tripping over a stammering apology, his hands trembling by his sides.

“Damn it, Ray—I can see it in your eyes. Stop bloody pitying him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Ray shrugs and Gavin feels his patience waning. “Michael!”

Michael grunts in response, too lost in his gym battle to take his eyes off his DS.

“Tell Ray to stop feeling sorry for Jake. The guy’s a first-class arsehole.” Michael still isn’t paying attention and Gavin honestly wants to smack him. Maybe introducing him to videogames was a mistake.

“Sure thing, hon…” Michael says distantly.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then the entire table bursts out laughing. Miles looks like he’s going to pass out and Barbara can hardly sit upright. Michael doesn’t even react, blinking confoundedly as his friends lose their shit around him.

Lindsay sends Gavin a wink.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Gavin mumbles, his face turning a similar shade to the cranberry sauce on his plate.

**

Gavin rises early the next morning.

He flings himself out of bed and throws on the most over-the-top Christmas jumper he can find, satisfied with the glittery, dark brown reindeer stitched into the uncomfortably bright fabric.

By the time the clock hits nine, he’s completely ready to go, absently fiddling with his hair in the bathroom mirror.

Michael stumbles into the bathroom soon after. A towel hangs around his waist, resting loosely on his hips. Water droplets trail down his shoulders, leaving glistening tracks along his pale skin as they trickle towards his lower back.

“What’cha staring at, Gav?”

Gavin tears his gaze from Michael’s body, eyes snapping to his face instead. Michael’s burnt orange hair is still damp from the shower, moisture dripping from the curled ends. Gavin swallows past the lump in his throat.

“We’re meant to be leaving in two minutes,” he grumbles.

Michael stands beside him in the reflection, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. He hums in acknowledgement and pops the toothbrush into his mouth.

“When did you wake up?” Gavin asks.

Michael turns to face him, sending him a disappointed look.

“Oh—right. You can’t talk and brush your—got it.”

Michael rolls his eyes and raises one hand with all fingers pointing upwards.

“Five minutes ago…?”

Michael nods and Gavin beams, feeling as though he’s cracked a secret code. His smile quickly fades when he digests Michael’s words

“ _Five minutes ago?_ Christ, Michael! Get a move on!”

Michael grins around his toothbrush, clearly enjoying Gavin’s panic. Gavin scowls at him and scrambles out of the bathroom, his agitation growing when he enters an empty Boys’ Dormitory.

“Michael, everyone’s already gone!” he calls, bouncing anxiously on the spot. He hears Michael spit followed by the sound of running water.

“Fantastic,” he says dryly.

Gavin scurries around the dormitory, digging through Michael’s wasteland of a suitcase. “Where are your effing clothes?”

“I dunno. In the wash probably.”

“For _God’s_ _sake_ , Michael!”

Without thinking, Gavin scoops Michael’s old jeans off the floor and grabs one of his own Christmas jumpers. He tosses the bundle of clothes in the direction of the bathroom and they fly directly into Michael’s face. Gavin is too busy searching for Michael’s gloves to see him fall over, but he hears the soft thud of something hitting the floor and a surprised exclamation of “ _Fuck!_ ” nonetheless.

After throwing all the essentials behind him, Gavin turns to find Michael standing with his arms folded across his bare chest.

“No fucking way, Gavin—I am _not_ wearing this.” He thrusts Gavin’s dark red Santa jumper as far away from his body as possible, his expression contorting into a look of repulsion.

“Yes you bloody are!” Gavin retorts, sending Michael’s wellies skidding towards his feet.

“ _No_ , I’m _not_. It’s fuckin’ hideous!”

“Michael! Put the damn jumper on!”

Fifteen minutes of bickering later and Gavin all but kicks Michael out of the Boys’ Dorm. Lindsay is waiting for them in the common room, tapping her foot impatiently when they arrive.

“What the fuck took you so long?” she asks.

Gavin zips up his thick coat and lobs Michael’s anorak at his head. “Michael was being a knob.”

“ _Fuck you—_ ”

“—Linds, you didn’t have to wait for us.”

Lindsay shrugs, plastering a wicked smile to her face, “Couldn’t leave you two losers alone, could I? Who _knows_ what mischief you could’ve gotten up to?” Her eyes flicker towards Michael and she waggles her eyebrows.

Gavin briefly considers slapping her.

The journey out of Hogwarts is painfully slow. Professor Pattillo is still scrambling around the castle twenty minutes after they were supposed to have departed, wrangling any remaining students wandering around the school. It happens every year, and Gavin thinks he’d be used to it by now, but he’s still left wringing his hands irritably as they wait for Pattillo’s return.

He shifts from one foot to the other, his sparkly wellies leaving deep footprints in the thick snow.

“What’s up with you?” Michael asks for the ninth time that morning. His cheeks are flushed red from the cold and white mist passes his lips with every exhale of breath.

Gavin shrugs dismissively. Can’t he be left to sulk in peace?

“C’mon, Gavvy,” Michael coos, playfully knocking their shoulders together. “You’re always excited to go to Hogsmeade.”

Gavin stumbles a little, off-balance.

“I am excited, it’s just—” he pauses abruptly, gnawing on his bottom lip. Michael raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I’m just impatient, is all. With the Ministry being so uptight about security now, we hardly get to go anymore.”

“You _know_ why they’re up our asses about security, Gavin. It’s for a good reason,” Michael says seriously.

“I know but—I mean—look at this!” Gavin gestures wildly to the troop of teachers surrounding them. “There’s _never_ this many teachers when we go.” Usually, Geoff and Professor Pattillo accompany them to the village and then leave them to their own devices but, this time, half the bloody faculty is there.

“Shit’s busy on Boxing Day, they probably just don’t want anyone gettin’ lost or left behind.”

Gavin sighs, not quite convinced by Michael’s explanation. “…I guess.”

There’s a scuffling of footsteps ahead and Gavin cranes his neck to see Professor Pattillo ushering two First Years out of the front entrance. The gaggle of students is split into their year groups and a second register is taken.

Gavin wouldn’t be surprised if his ears fell off from frostbite at this point.

Once everyone is accounted for, they head off, trudging through the fresh blanket of snow that covers the road from the castle.

**

Hogsmeade looks like a scene straight out of A Christmas Carol.

Warm, yellow light gleams from the windows of thatched cottages, their tiled rooves buried under a sheet of white. Strings of enchanted candles hang from bare trees, glowing fairy lights and luminous snowflakes decorating the streetlamps. The soft melody of Christmas music floats through the crisp air.

If there’s one thing Gavin loves about the wizarding world, it’s how untouched it is by the modernity of 21st Century life. Hogsmeade is absent of the hideous billboards found plastered to industrial muggle cities. The air is clean and brisk, untainted by the stench of pollution. The streets are bustling, shoppers darting in and out of the quaint, little shops lining the street, and the atmosphere is one of excitement rather than panic.

Lindsay claps her gloved hands together, shaking Gavin from his thoughts.

“Alright. Where to first?” She asks, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

Barbara withdraws a crumpled leaflet from her coat pocket. She unfurls it carefully so as to not tear the already damp paper, flecked with melting snowflakes.

“Well, Honeydukes is just around the corner and I’ve got to pick up sweets for my little sister.” She straightens out the map on the second page.

“Yeah but we gotta go to Zonko’s Jokes Shop,” Ray interjects, looping an arm around Kerry’s waist and pulling the small boy against his side. “I promised Kerry we’d check out the Christmas selection of Dungbombs.”

“Alright, kids. Settle down,” Michael says. He snags the map out of Barbara’s hands and peers at it through his steamed-up glasses. “How ’bout we head to Honeydukes first and Zonko’s after. Does that sound fair?”

Ray shrugs, nudging Kerry with his arm, and Barbara nods in agreement. With that, they set off down the street, their wellies sinking further into the snow as they amble along the icy path.

They’re crossing the road when Michael takes it upon himself to sneeze and cause a nuclear explosion.

“Christ!” Gavin cries, jumping out of his skin. “You could’ve warned us, at least.”

Michael lets out a groan, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His auburn hair is dotted with snowflakes and pokes out from underneath a grey beanie. Sniffling adorably, he removes his glasses to clean them with his sleeve.

“Michael…”

The freckled boy turns to face Gavin.

“I like you hat.”

“Shut up,” Michael mumbles, his cheeks turning a faint red that readily blames on the cold. “ _What?_ It’s fuckin’ freezing,” he reiterates.

Gavin scoffs, “You know fingerless gloves are kind of counterproductive if you’re trying to keep your hands warm. What’s the point?”

“The _point_ is they look fuckin’ cool,” Michael says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

An intense warmth envelops Gavin as he steps inside Honeydukes, more like stepping inside a kiln than a sweet shop. As the wooden door swings open, a bell jingles musically, alerting the shop assistants that they have customers. Shelves upon shelves are stacked with a variety of sweets: Exploding Bonbons, Fizzing Whizzbees, Glacial Snow Flakes, and hundreds more.

After browsing the aisles for a ludicrous amount of time, the group heads for the checkout. Gavin has gathered more sweets off the shelves than his arms can carry and is more-or-less using Michael as a sentient shopping trolley.

When Gavin finally reaches the till, he’s faced with a thin, acne-riddled cashier. A bored expression seems permanently glued to their young face.

“That’ll be two galleons and nine sickles, please.”

Gavin fumbles around inside his pocket. He pulls out a tattered leather wallet and hands the cashier a number of gold and silver coins.

“ _Two galleons_ and _nine sickles_ ,” the cashier repeats in a monotonous voice.

“Ah, piss,” Gavin hisses. He only brought twenty sickles with him, certain he’d spend no more than that. His mum is tight enough on money as it is and he didn’t want her wasting any on his expense. “I could write you an IOU…?” he jokes.

The cashier doesn’t look impressed in the slightest.

The others are all waiting outside for him in the cold, and that thought alone makes him even more flustered. Just when he thinks the cashier will stare him to death, Michael jumps to his rescue. He digs out a handful of coins from his jeans pocket and slams them down on the counter.

The cashier looks satisfied enough with the payment – if a little startled. “Would you care for a pack of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans? They come at half price with every purchase, now including new original flavours like Toilet Water and Morning Breath.”

“Umm, no thanks,” Gavin says quickly, grabbing the carrier bag that the cashier packed for him and hurrying out of the shop.

After finally escaping, he sucks in a cool lungful of breath. The faint chiming of bells indicates that Michael has followed behind him.

“What took you guys so long? We’re freezing our tits off out here,” Barbara says, briskly rubbing her hands together in an attempt to generate heat.

“Speak for yourself. My tits are fine,” Miles comments.

Gavin opens his mouth to speak but Michael cuts in ahead of him.

“Nothin’ unusual, Gav was just being as indecisive as ever.” He sends Gavin a small smile and Gavin feels his own lips twitch upwards in return. It’s a side of Michael that people rarely get to see, a softness that Gavin likes to imagine is reserved for him alone.

The others seem to accept Michael’s explanation and start heading in the direction of Zonko’s.

Gavin stays rooted to the spot, not quite feeling like hanging around while his friends flaunt their financial stability in front of him. Michael notices his unwillingness to move and hangs back too. Soon, the entire group comes to a stuttering halt.

“Hey—uhh, Gav and I want to check out the Shrieking Shack. ’S it alright if we go now and meet you guys later?” His eyes dart towards Gavin as though he’s asking for permission but Gavin merely stares back at him, too stunned to speak.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Lindsay asks. “I hear the Willems’ new range of Skiving Snackboxes are to die for.”

“Nah, we’re good. We’ll meet you by The Three Broomsticks at four.”

Lindsay looks uncertain, her brows furrowing slightly. The moment passes and her expression warps into one of slyness.

“Sure thing,” she says with a wicked grin. “Have fun together… _alone._ ”

“I swear to _God,_ Lindsay—” But Gavin doesn’t manage to finish his threat because Michael drags him away in the opposite direction, his words drowned out by the chorus of his friends’ laughter.

He remains in a mingey silence for a good five minutes, kicking at every pile of snow he passes. A strange feeling of gratitude simmers inside of him. The foreign sensation fizzes in his stomach, setting his nerves on edge. Michael _did_ pass up a good opportunity to stock up on practical jokes supplies, after all. Now what will he do when Professor Pattillo sets them homework to be completed for the next day?

“Thanks for not saying anything about how broke I am,” Gavin says quietly, buttoning and unbuttoning his duffel coat.

“Sure thing, dude.” Michael doesn’t turn to look at him, but Gavin can hear the smile in his voice, “Some people are struggling and some aren’t. It’s not gonna change how I see you.”

Gavin stops in his tracks. A giddy warmth curls inside his chest, squeezing his throat until it’s hard to breathe. Michael soon realises that Gavin is no longer behind him and stops, too.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there or are we gonna see this haunted pile of garbage for ourselves?” He tilts his head, watching Gavin expectantly before rolling his eyes and turning back around to continue along the path.

“Right. Coming!” Gavin grins brightly, scurrying after him.

**

A chilling wind howls through the trees bordering the forest. Snow hails from the dull, grey sky like a spray of broken glass, numbing Gavin’s cheeks until they are red and raw. The frozen, grassy hillside and snarling tree roots make for an unsteady terrain and Gavin can’t seem to stop tripping over.

As they head down the slope to the viewpoint, Gavin’s foot slips again. He falls. His legs fly out from beneath him but a strong hand grasps his elbow, saving him from a painful collision with the ground. Michael doesn’t let go of his arm until they are on even land and Gavin immediately misses the contact when he does.

Chains of barbed wire line the little hill, held up by thick, weathered stakes of wood. Gavin doesn’t doubt that a single touch from one of these bad boys would results in a splinter the size of his leg.

The Shrieking Shack lies ahead, buried under such a colossal heap of snow that it appears to have merged with the hillside itself. Gavin can’t say he’s overly thrilled to be here, just _seeing_ the dilapidated building gives him the heebie-jeebies, and the distant expression on Michael’s face only adds to his discomfort.

Michael watches the shack with a vacant stare, his strong jaw clenched and the tendrils of his hair fluttering in the wind.

“What are we doing here, Michael?” Gavin asks, longing to draw them out of this frigid silence.

“Sightseeing,” Michael says plainly.

Gavin sighs through his nose. “And what a sight it is.”

“You got anything better in mind?”

Shrugging, Gavin drops to his knees. He doesn’t notice the immediate blush that paints Michael’s cheeks, too busy scooping up a handful of fresh snow from the ground. Clumping the white powder into a ball, he grabs Michael’s wrist and places the snowball in his open palm.

Gavin quickly moulds his own icy projectile from the snow at his feet.

“Fight me,” he smirks.

“Oh, you’re on.”

There’s a dangerous glint in Michael’s eyes and Gavin shivers for another reason entirely than the cold.

The first minute of their newly declared war is spent hastily gathering snow. Michael puts together his arsenal first, forcing Gavin to retreat to the edge of the forest to take cover from the onslaught of snowballs.

Something hard cracks against the tree he’s hiding behind, denting the bark and bouncing onto the ground.

“Oi! There was a rock in that one!” He squawks.

“Oops,” Michael calls back, but there’s laughter in his voice and he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Gavin darts out from his cover, ammunition stored securely in his coat pockets. He hurtles three snowballs at Michael in a rapid-fire attack. The first two miss their mark by a long shot but the last snowball nails Michael in the leg, making him sprint off in retreat.

“Ha! I got you.” Gavin barks out a triumphant laugh. His victory is short-lived, however, as Michael lobs a snowball directly at his face, momentarily blinding him.

“ _Oooh._ Right in the kisser!”

Gavin scrubs the snow off his cheeks, not at all surprised that Michael resorted to such filthy tactics so quickly.

“You’re playing dirty, you are,” Gavin says, wagging a finger warningly.

Michael merely smirks at him, tossing a snowball casually between his hands. “Thought you wanted to fight?”

Gavin doesn’t bother replying and sends another handful of snowballs rocketing through the air. They hit Michael square in the chest but he barely flinches before retaliating with his own strike. The first snowball smacks into Gavin’s wrist, making him drop the last remaining snowball in his gloved hand. But it’s the second one that does the real damage, colliding with his abdomen so forcefully that he topples over.

Gavin sucks in a shallow breath, lying sprawled out on his back. It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of his lungs, leaving behind a cold vacuum in his chest. He hears Michael’s voice in the distance, morphing from amusement to worry in a heartbeat.

“Oh, shit! Fuck—Gavin, are you okay? I _swear_ there wasn’t a rock in that one. Hey—” He’s by Gavin’s side in an instant, crouched over him, his eyes wide with concern, completely oblivious to the snow that Gavin is clutching in his outstretched hand.

“Yeah, I think I just—” Gavin starts to sit up but flails ridiculously and falls back down. Michael grabs hold of Gavin’s shoulders before he can hit the ground, one hand hovering over his lower back.

Quicker than a flash, Gavin brings up his hand and weasels it into Michael’s coat, dumping the pile of snow down the other boy’s back.

Michael shrieks and springs to his feet. “Aaah—fuck! Fuckfuckfuck _shit!_ ” He claws at his shoulder blades with one hand and reaches up his jumper with the other, desperately scraping the snow out of his clothes. “God dammit, Gavin!”

Laughter racks Gavin’s body and he clutches his sides, practically crying with the intensity of it. He’s giggling so uncontrollably that he doesn’t even notice when Michael tackles him, dragging them both into the snow with a hard thump.

“I should _throttle_ you!” Michael yells, straddling Gavin’s waist, but his eyes are crinkling at the corners with poorly concealed laughter.

They stay like that for a long moment, chests pressed flushed together and almost every bit of them touching – thighs, arms, hands. Michael’s curly fringe is hanging over his eyes and Gavin has to repress the urge to brush it away with his fingers. They’re so close that Gavin can feel the hairs tickling his cheek – can feel Michael’s cool breath dusting across his skin, and he forgets how to breathe. It would be so easy to just reach out, pull Michael in, and –

_Shit._

Alarm bells scream in Gavin’s head and he flexes his legs, trying to kick Michael off.

Michael eventually gets the message and clambers off Gavin’s thighs, backtracking until a distance of a few feet separates them. He brushes the snow off his jeans, still chuckling breathlessly to himself.

Gavin moves to stand up, willing his racing heart to calm down, but he recoils when he feels a wet iciness touch his feet.

His wellies lie discarded on the ground a metre away. They must have fallen off in the scuffle. Gavin reaches out to pick them up but Michael is there first, snatching them out of the snow and scrambling away.

“Give them back, Michael,” Gavin whines, suddenly not feeling in the mood to play games.

Michael dangles the wellies in front of him teasingly. “Why don’t you come and get them?” He starts to back away and Gavin scrambles to his feet, acting out more on reflex than anything else. He’s now ankle-deep in thick snow with nothing but his woollen socks on and this is clearly another wave of _fuckin’ stupid._

Michael breaks into a run and Gavin tears after him. He’s faster than Michael but far clumsier, so when he catches up, Michael has no problem dodging out if his way as Gavin trips over his own limbs.

“Come here, you bitch!” Gavin’s toes are already freezing but he doesn’t relent, stumbling after Michael as he leads them away from the Shrieking Shack and further into the forest. “Michael!” He’s running out of breath and the snow has seeped through the soles of his socks, drenching his feet with chilling water. Tall evergreens blur past him and knotted tree roots graze his ankles.

He slows to a stop, doubling over. Michael seems to take pity on him because he’s quickly by Gavin’s side, wellies in hand.

“Alright, I’ll stop,” he says, dropping the wellies at Gavin’s feet. He would look almost sheepish if it wasn’t for the amused curl of his lips.

“That’s b-bloody right. My toes are gonna f-fall off.” Gavin hastily tugs his wellies on but it does nothing to alleviate the numbing coldness in his bones. His feet hurt, his eyes are stinging, Michael’s an idiot – what a great day this has been. “You’re an arsehole.”

“You got me there.” Despite the sarcasm, there’s a twinge of remorse in Michael’s voice, which is about as close as he’ll ever get to apologising. “D’you want to head back or…?”

Gavin takes a step forwards and winces because – Christ – does walking _hurt._ He might as well be dancing on a bed of nails.

“Only if you carry me,” he grimaces.

What he _doesn’t_ expect is for Michael to actually lift him off the floor and heave him into his arms. Gavin screeches, clinging to Michael’s chest for dear life as he’s carried bridal style. Michael starts forward, completely unfazed by the writhing mass of limbs in his arms.

“M-michael! Put me down!” Gavin shrieks.

“But I thought you wanted to be carried?”

“I was _joking!_ ” God, Gavin is going to throw up. All this swaying is making him dizzy.

Michael plops Gavin back on the ground, his brows furrowing. “Well, at least let me give you a piggyback.”

Gavin gapes at Michael, startled by how completely serious the other boy is. He waits for some sort of snide remark, a smooth backpedal from his previous suggestion, but nothing comes.

“Fine,” Gavin resigns.

Michael spins around and bends his knees so that Gavin can hop onto his back. He lurches forward a little at the extra weight but quickly finds his balance, straightening before hoisting Gavin’s legs further up his back. Gavin lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden pressure on his thighs, and Michael snorts.

“God, you’re such a baby.”

“Hey—you stole my wellies!” Gavin yells in protest, determined to hold onto whatever dignity he has left, which isn’t much seeing how tightly he’s clinging to Michael’s neck.

“You shoved snow down my back,” Michael counters.

“You winded me!”

“You started it—”

“ _Alright,_ I get it!”

Michael laughs smugly, pleased to have won the argument.

They settle into a comfortable silence as he walks them back to the village. Gavin rests his chin on Michael’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against the side of Michael’s head, and the smell of coconut shampoo fills his senses once again.

Is Michael a god damn menace?

Yes.

Is Gavin completely in love with him?

_Absolutely._

**

The Three Broomsticks is a charming pub located in the centre of town. Golden light flickers in each of the small, square windows nestled in the stone building. Snow dusts the slate tiled roof and a pleasant hum of chatter resonates from inside.

When they reach the entrance, Gavin attempts to hop off Michael’s back. Taken aback by the sudden movement, Michael tightens his grasp on Gavin’s calves and as Gavin rocks backwards, the two of them nearly topple over.

“Jesus Christ!” Gavin squawks, practically suffocating Michael with his arms.

A frantic choking sound crawls out of Michael’s throat. Gavin loosens his grip, slipping further down Michael’s back, “Michael! Put me _dow—_ ” The feeling of his tailbone connecting with the hard ground cuts him short. “Shit!” Michael flops down beside him, wincing as he lands on his arse.

“ _Put you down?_ The fuck d’you think I was _trying_ to do?” He barks.

“I don’t know! _Kill me?_ ” Gavin waves his arms madly for emphasis. His remark is answered with a sharp thwack on the arm and a soft hand ruffling his hair – the two sensations so opposite that it burns him, like taking a warm shower after lying in a pile of snow.

Michael mutters something that vaguely sounds like “Moron,” under his breath and Gavin has to fight the urge to kick him. They stumble to their feet, dusting the snow off their clothes, and head for the pub’s entrance.

Gavin barely makes it two feet inside before he feels a small hand close around his sleeve and another pinching his ear.

“An hour late. Typical.” Barbara tugs on his earlobe, dragging him over to a table where he’s forcefully shoved into a chair. “I didn’t _ask_ to be the mom friend but god _damn_ do you two make it hard not to be.”

“Good to see you too, Babs,” Gavin grimaces, rubbing his now red ear.

All Barbara has to do is _look_ at Michael and he’s sprinting for the nearest seat.

“That’s right. You sit your butt down,” Barbara says sternly. She would make a terrifying mother, Gavin thinks.

Michael looks a little pale from the whole ordeal. He sinks into the chair opposite Gavin and Barbara returns to her own seat.

Despite the strange tension, Gavin doesn’t miss the way Ray runs his hand gently along Michael’s arm – a seemingly harmless gesture but it stirs something unpleasant in Gavin’s stomach. Michael calms down a little after that, his shoulders relaxing and the colour returning to his cheeks.

Gavin wills the pang of jealousy to disappear.

Lindsay is seated on his left and watches him curiously, a far-too-knowing smile curling the corners of her mouth. Gavin can see the cogs whirring in her disturbed, little brain.

“Whatever you’re about to say, save it,” he grumbles.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Lindsay says, raising her hands in a pacifying gesture.

“’Course you weren’t.”

Lindsay regards him searchingly. “What’s got _your_ panties in a twist?”

“Actually, they’re knickers, and they’re very much _untwisted_.”

“…If you say so,” Lindsay’s gaze drops to his hand. “But don’t take out your repressed feelings on the coaster.”

Gavin blinks. He hadn’t even realised he was holding it. He unclenches his hand and it clatters loudly onto the wooden table surface, the pub logo printed on it scratched away by his fingernails.

“Jesus, what did it ever do to you?”

Thankfully, Gavin is saved from responding by the arrival of Kerry and Miles, who bring a distraction in the form of a tray of drinks.

“Thank _fuck,_ ” Ray proclaims, grabbing the only soda from the tray, the ice clinking in his glass. “I’m thirsty as shit.”

“Ray, you just finished your third glass of water,” Kerry says, setting down his butterbeer. His voice adopts that awestruck quality it only gets when he sees Ray disprove the laws of science by simply existing.

“Gotta stay hydrated.”

Gavin feels a pointy elbow jab his side and he spins around.

It’s Barbara.

“What _now?_ ” he asks testily.

She ignores the blatant vinegar in his voice. “Why are there so many teachers in here?”

Gavin looks around properly for the first time since entering The Three Broomsticks. Rows of tables encase them and the pub is crowded with both students and adults alike. A disappointingly sober Geoff is perched on a stool at the bar and, beside him, Professor Haywood takes long drags out of a lit cigarette.

Pattillo strolls up to the pair, plopping down beside Geoff with two glasses of firewhiskey cradled in his hands. He offers Geoff one of them but the other man shakes his head. Professor Pattillo shrugs, placing one of the glasses next to Geoff anyway before downing his own.

Gavin isn’t quite sure what Barbara is getting at. “Geoff’s always here. Heck, he practically _lives_ here. What’s your point?”

“But he isn’t _drinking_ ,” Barbara says shrewdly. “Look harder.”

Gavin swivels around in his seat. Professor Sorola and Professor Heyman are huddled in the corner of the pub and, seated around the table on the far right, are Professors O’Connell, Haddock and Oum. A throng of Hogwarts students surrounds them, confined to smaller circular tables dotted around the room.

Anxiety creeps into Gavin’s thoughts once again, a dull headache throbbing in his skull. He absently massages his temples, turning his attention back on Barbara.

“I was thinking about this before we left… Seems a bit over the top for a generic trip to Hogsmeade.”

Barbara hums thoughtfully. “It must be The Ministry interfering again.”

Gavin lets out a bitter laugh. “When do they not?”

Their conversation is quickly derailed by a loud and abrupt burst of choking.

Kerry clutches his chest, sputtering. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Miles is in peals of laughter beside him and Ray grins stupidly next to them both. Michael shakes his head in dismay.

“What did you do?” Barbara asks. Gavin can hear the smile in her voice.

“I didn’t do anything!” Ray thumps Kerry on the back when he continues to cough. “It wasn’t even that funny.”

“It was pretty fuckin’ funny, Ray,” Michael smirks.

Miles is in stitches, rocking backwards in his chair as laughter wracks his body. Unaware of his hysterical giggle fit, one of his arm flies out in the direction of Barbara’s face. She automatically blocks it before it can make contact.

“What?” Gavin presses.

Michael discreetly points a finger to his left. “You see that guy at the bar?”

Gavin turns to where Michael is pointing. A tall, skinny man stands with his back to them. His black and grey clothes are torn and his hair is a long, wild mess.

“…Yeah?”

“Well he looks kinda like the lead singer from The Weird Sisters, right? That Wagtail prick.”

Gavin furrows his brows. They _do_ look similar. “I guess. So…?”

“So—” Michael is interrupted by his own laughter, “so—”

Lindsay cuts in. “So Miles says ‘How much money would he have to pay you for a blowjob?’”

“Ew.”

“—and Ray says ‘I’d blow him for free.’”

“What?” Gavin squeaks. “ _That_ guy?”

“He’s rich! And famous! The pros outweigh the cons,” Ray argues.

Lindsay’s laughter is a musical sound. “No he’s not! He’s just some homeless dude who _looks_ like Wagtail.”

“I was joking!” Ray groans, hands covering his face.

Barbara is laughing too now, squeaky and hysterical. But Gavin is more focused on Michael, who has a fond smile playing across his lips.

“You have a shitty taste in men, Ray,” he says.

Ray snorts, “Says _you._ ”

Before Gavin can even comprehend what that means, a flash of red shoots across the room.

Then comes the screaming.

Gavin whirls around and sees Professor Haywood lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. His face contorts into a look of pure agony, a wand lying uselessly by his twitching hands.

Hysteria consumes the building.

Students scramble out of their seats, knocking over tables and crashing into each other in their haste. Sparks fly above Gavin’s head. A green one zips past his ear, far too close for comfort, and he dives out of his chair.

He crawls under the table, tucking his legs beneath him and wrapping his arms around his chest. Something jostles his side and he raises his head, reaching aimlessly for his wand.

It’s Barbara. Her face is panic stricken and she grips her wand tightly in a trembling hand.

Gavin does a frantic scan of his surroundings; Lindsay is latched onto Ray’s arm, kneeling under the table with them, and Miles has Kerry tucked protectively into his side. Michael—

Gavin feels his chest constrict.

_Where’s Michael?_

He claws out from underneath the table. Barbara throws her arm out to stop him but he tears free of her grasp and staggers to his feet, dazed and gasping for breath.

A blur of auburn catches his eye, fleeting among the chaos, and he sprints towards it.

Michael is curled in on himself, back pressed against a wall and knees hugged to his chest. Shards of glass encompass him in a jagged prison, the remains of a shattered window above his head. Gavin tries to pry Michael away from the wall but Michael only curls tighter, as though he’s trying to make himself as small as possible.

Sheer panic claws at Gavin’s throat.

“Michael!”

Michael’s head snaps up at the sound of his name.

“…Gavin?” His voice is so small and meek, and it shakes Gavin to his core.

“Come on! We have to go.” He hauls Michael to his feet but the other boy is shaking so violently that his legs give out beneath him. “Michael, _please!_ ”

Michael’s eyes are wide. He stares, blank and unseeing, fixated on a point beyond Gavin’s head. Gavin turns to follow his gaze and his eyes land on the tattered, dark-clothed man from before.

The joke. The nobody.

The bartender lies dead at his feet – a woman no older than twenty, her blonde hair splayed across the dirty floor and her lightless eyes looking skyward.

The figure takes a shuddering step forward and Gavin freezes.

Drawing a gnarled wand from his sleeve, the man falls to his knees.

“Long live The Dark Lord.” He hunches forward, a shadow bent in prayer. “ _Incendio._ ”

And the world explodes around him.

**

It hurts to open his eyes.

Gavin’s vision blurs, angry colours blaring and spiralling around him. The air is a poisonous haze of smoke, bleeding into his lungs.

He can’t breathe. Why does it _hurt_ so much?

Something wet drips along his jaw. He swipes at it with the pad of his thumb and brings the quivering digit in front of his face. The skin is stained red. His ears are ringing, an endless scream that sends shockwaves of pain shooting through his head.

He can’t get up.

When his vision finally clears, the room swims into focus. Barbara is crouched over him. Her face is coated with soot and her dirtied, blonde hair clings to her face with sweat. She’s crying.

The world is nothing but fire. Gavin rolls onto his side to escape the blinding heat but the dark-clothed man is dead beside him, his eyes wide. Seared onto his forearm, a black snake slithers from the mouth of a skull.

Gavin turns back, horrified, bile rising in his throat.

Then he sees Michael.

Flames lick at his charred skin, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Gavin can feel himself slipping. Dark spots appear in front of his eyes and he passes out, Michael’s screams muffled by the deafening shrieking his skull.

**

_A cloud of smoke, vast and sweltering, snakes through the air. There’s a hissing in Gavin’s head. Blood trickles down his earlobes, painting his cheeks red. And Michael is burning, dying. He disappears behind the sea of fire and Gavin is alone._

He wakes with a start.

A hand settles on his shoulder, easing him back down, but he fights it – squirming and thrashing out like a caged animal.

“Hey—easy, Gavin. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

White walls surround him. Translucent curtains drape across tall windows, like ghosts hanging from the ceiling; the curtain ties, nooses around their silvery throats. The clean stench of the air makes him gag, stinging like someone shoved a fistful of hand sanitiser down his throat. He blinks, dazed, taking in the searing brightness of the room.

The hospital wing.

Why is he in the hospital wing?

“It’s alright, Gavin. You’re safe.” Professor Pattillo is watching him, his forehead creasing with worry. His ginger hair is greasy from days without a wash and his beard looks more like a dead squirrel taped to his chin than anything else.

“Professor? W-what happened?” Gavin is shocked by how feeble his voice sounds. His throat feels as though it’s been rubbed raw by sandpaper.

Professor Pattillo passes him a glass of water, apparently having read his mind.

“There was an attack at The Three Broomsticks. You don’t… remember anything?”

It all comes back, a tidal wave of trauma flooding his mind. Gavin bolts upright. He tries to clamber out of bed but his legs are tangled in the sheets, constricting his ankles.

“Where’s Michael?” he gasps. Suddenly, it hurts to breathe. His thoughts strangle him, curtain ties squeezing around his windpipe.

“I—I’ll get Madam Brown—”

“I don’t _need_ the nurse just tell me where he is!”

“He’s okay, Gavin. You’re both okay—I promise.”

Gavin’s brain finally remembers how to _breathe_ and he exhales shakily. He runs a hand through his hair and feels the brush of bandages against his fingertips.

That makes him freeze.

His ears are wrapped in white cloth. Why are his ears wrapped in—?

“Madam Brown fixed your hearing while you were out. Thankfully, there’s no long-term damage, but things might be a little fuzzy for the next few weeks.” Pattillo scratches the back of his neck. The awkwardness of the action sets Gavin’s teeth on edge. “You were pretty close to the explosion.”

“How…how long was I asleep?”

Professor Pattillo doesn’t meet his gaze. “Two days.”

Gavin sinks back, wishing the mattress would just swallow him whole.

“Professor Ramsey wanted to be here when you woke up but they needed a senior member of staff to accompany Michael’s transport to St. Mungo’s,” Pattillo continues quietly.

 _St. Mungo’s?_ Panic seizes Gavin once again. “He’s okay though—right? You said he was okay…”

Professor Pattillo doesn’t answer, averting his gaze to the Daily Prophet lying abandoned in his lap. Gavin snatches it without a second thought. He flicks to the front page, almost tearing the thin paper in his haste.

The dark-clothed man stares at him from a flashing mugshot, his eyes wild with fury. He rattles his chains, surging forward uncontrollably like a marionette on tangled strings. Above him, the title of the article stands in bold, black letters.

_STUDENT DIES IN TERRORIST DEATH EATER ATTACK._

Tears sting Gavin’s eyes. Pattillo promised Michael was okay. He _promised._ Steeling himself, he reads on, fear gnawing at his insides.

_Last night, convicted Death Eater, Vladimir Petrovich (48) attacked a pub in Hogsmeade where Hogwarts students were visiting. Twelve students were seriously injured including Michael Jones (14), son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Professor James Haywood (33). After setting the alcohol stores aflame, Petrovich died in the explosion. Among the deceased was bartender, Jenny Rosmerta (22) and student, Jake Austen (15). A funeral will be held for Jake at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on January 5 th, which friends and family of the Austens will attend. Chief Warlock and Head teacher, Matt Hullum, has not released an official statement as of yet._

Gavin drops the newspaper. His breath passes his lips in ragged gasps, his head spinning as he takes in the article.

Jake is dead?

Tears well in his eyes. His inhale of breath shudders through him and he wipes furiously at his waterline with his sleeve.

_Stop crying. You hated Jake, remember?_

“I’m sorry,” Professor Pattillo says sombrely. “You knew him, right?”

Gavin nods, not knowing what to say. “ _Ray—_ ” he suddenly blurts. “Lindsay, Barbara—are they?”

Pattillo’s lips raise in a sad smile. “They’re all fine. Hardly left your side since the attack. Madam Brown only managed to send them away to get some sleep an hour ago... It’s been a rough few days.”

They fall into a morose silence. Gavin’s hands ball into fists, twisting around the bedsheets. He can’t get the image out of his head – a black snake sliding out of the mouth of a smiling skull. He _knows_ what it means. There isn’t a witch or wizard alive who doesn’t.

“Were you there… at The Battle?” he asks.

Professor Pattillo draws in a long breath. The life seems to leave his eyes, a haggard expression tugging at his features.

Gavin flounders. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No. It’s okay.” Pattillo sighs. He unbuttons his grey shirt and pulls down the collar of his t-shirt. A swaying willow tree is etched into his collarbone, its bare, twisted branches curling towards his neck.

Gavin remembers seeing the same tattoo on Geoff’s arm in his first year, back when he and Ray were heading to the castle for their very first time. Gavin’s eyes flit to the floor, not wanting to stare.

“I was half way through my fifth year in ’98… My school years were the best times I ever had. I made friends for life here.”

“You mean Geoff?”

Professor Pattillo hums in affirmation, fondness shimmering in his dark eyes. “And Ryan.”

Gavin sends him a puzzled look.

“Professor Haywood,” he clarifies, “I s’pose he was still James back then. Goddamn smart kid, too—top of his class. No wonder he went on to be Head of Potions.” He picks up the Daily Prophet from where Gavin dropped it, vacantly thumbing through the pages. “Geoff was working here as a TA when it happened. Guess he didn’t know what he was getting into when he came back to Hogwarts, but he’s always loved it here… We have that in common, I think.”

Pattillo pauses, grimacing as though he’s in pain.

“Geoff saved my life—not that he’d ever admit it. He pulled me out of the way of a killing curse… We were out by the Whomping Willow, cutting off Death Eaters who were trying to storm the castle.” He lets go of his collar and the material bounces back, the fabric stretched slightly. “Most people would’ve turned tail and got the hell away after that, but we couldn’t ever bring ourselves to leave. I don’t know… Home is home.”

Gavin hums softly. His throat feels tight, constricting against words of comfort, remorse. Anything.

“Anyway—enough of that,” Professor Pattillo says abruptly, waving a hand. “And don’t you _ever_ tell Professor Haywood that I told you his first name, he’ll kill me.”

He chuckles, and Gavin smiles in spite of himself.

“…Professor Ramsey gets back from St. Mungo’s on Monday, but classes probably won’t start up for a while.” Pattillo gets to his feet, chair legs squeaking against the wooden floor. “Professor Hullum’s asked me to go with him to the Ministry tomorrow for the Wizengamot council. I could take you and your friends to see Michael, if you want.”

Gavin feels tears burning his eyes. He sniffles, too exhausted to reign in his emotions. “Y-you would do that?”

“Of _course_ I would. I care about you, Gavin.” Pattillo’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “We’ll look after him, okay?”

Gavin’s lower lip starts to tremble. He blinks rapidly, fisting a hand in his hair. “Okay.”

Professor Pattillo buttons up his shirt again. He places a comforting hand on Gavin’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Michael will get through this, Gavin. He’s a strong kid.”

Gavin has to avert his gaze from the sincerity in Pattillo’s eyes. “…Thanks, Professor.”

“Any time.” Pattillo leaves the hospital wing, and Gavin is alone.

**

The walls are a pasty white. Long rectangular lights hang from the ceiling, glimmering against the shiny linoleum flooring. No one is talking. A grim silence hangs over them, and Ray is the first to break it.

“Fuckin’ stop pacing, Gavin. You’re not helping.”

Gavin huffs and slumps down beside him, sinking into one of the plush chairs lining the corridor.

He can hear shouts coming from the hospital room. They’ve been at it for hours – a woman shrieking furiously and a boy yelling back at her in indignation. Gavin _knows_ that it’s Michael, and the fact that his best friend is on the other side of that wall, in pain and alone, makes his heart ache. His hand curls into a tight fist.

“Why won’t she let us see him?”

No one answers him. He lets out a frustrated sigh, casting his eyes to one of the many Daily Prophet copies stacked in a newspaper stand.

The article on the front page is always about the attack.

Everything clicked into place once Gavin learnt that it was the second attack that month; the army of teaches supervising the Hogsmeade trip and all the registers taken at various assembly points – it all made sense now. Professor Hullum _knew_ they were in danger. He just didn’t know how to stop it.

Lindsay places a reassuring hand on Gavin’s knee, jolting him from his thoughts. She smiles softly when he finally meets her gaze but her eyes are empty and sad.

A harsh voice cuts through the quiet.

“ _It’s not up for discussion, Michael. We never should’ve sent you there in the first place._ ”

“ _Mom! I didn’t ask for this to happen! You can’t—_ ”

“ _Like hell I can’t!_ _The nerve of that school. No wonder they can’t keep you safe when they have mudbloods like Ramsey running it._ ”

Gavin feels his blood run cold. Fuming, he vaults out of his chair and makes a beeline straight for Michael’s room.

“Gavin, don’t—” Ray starts.

He wrenches the handle and flings the door open. It crashes into the wall, trembling at the aftershock of the impact.

Gavin’s breath catches in his throat.

Michael is curled up in a hospital bed. The blankets are drawn closely to his chest and his skin is ghostly pale. His arms are covered in a healing paste. The slimy concoction has solidified to form stretchy patches that spread out across his skin. They writhe and stir, and it’s almost like they’re alive, glowing pale blue in the crisp light.

Michael’s entire left side is wrapped in white bandages, binding all the way up his ribcage and along his face. His one visible eye is red and raw, like he’s been crying.

Mrs Jones pushes past Gavin, and he stumbles. He’d almost forgotten she was there. She pauses in the doorway, straightening her suit jacket and flattening her auburn hair.

“We’ll continue this conversation when your father gets here.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. She scowls, her stern expression turning even sourer. “He’s taking time off work for you so stop being so ungrateful.” And then she’s gone, slamming the door behind her.

Michael hunches over, his hands hugging his chest. He starts to rock backward and forward, breathing raggedly.

Gavin can’t bring himself to move. “Michael—what happened?”

Michael snaps his head up to look at him, his mouth twisting into a snarl. Tears roll down the uncovered side of his face.

“She won’t let me go back!” He screams.

“W-what? Back to where?”

“To _Hogwarts,_ Gavin!”

Gavin feels his heart leap into his throat.

“She…she can’t do that,” he breathes.

Michael doesn’t answer him. He only cries harder, clenching his own skin so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Gavin desperately wants to go to him – to hold him – but he can hear Mrs Jones footsteps echoing down the corridor, growing fainter with every step, and he knows what he has to do.

He takes off running.

Tearing down the hallway, Gavin rounds the corner and catches a glimpse of red hair. He sprints after the flash of colour, yelling at Mrs Jones’ retreating figure.

“Mrs Jones! Mrs Jones, please—”

She hesitantly slows to a halt and Gavin rushes to catch up. He stops in front of her, his chest heaving, willing his erratic heartbeat to calm down. He draws in a quivering breath and everything gushes out at once.

“Mrs Jones, what…what happened to Michael was _my_ fault. Please, don’t make him leave. If anything happens to him again just—just take it out on me. I’ll do anything, I swear.” He’s crying, great, big tears rolling down his swollen cheeks, and it’s pathetic. The fear of losing Michael for a second time chokes him.

Mrs Jones regards him closely. She raises a single eyebrow, and suddenly Gavin can see so much of Michael in her expression that it makes his head spin.

Gavin doesn’t know how long he stands there for but when he finally gathers himself together, he’s alone.

The walk back to Michael’s hospital room feels impossible. His limbs are heavier than lead and his head feels like its stuffed full of cotton.

He doesn’t make eye contact with Ray or Lindsay when he passes them. He knows they were watching his little breakdown and if he sees even a _hint_ of pity on either of their faces, he might punch something.

The door to Michael’s hospital room is shut again. Gavin pushes it open.

He doesn’t even manage to step inside before something hurtles past his head, shattering next to him. His eyes flit to the noticeable dent in the wall and then to the shards of glass littering the floor before eventually working their way to Michael.

The boy staring back at Gavin doesn’t look like Michael. His body is taut with rage and his fists tremble something fierce. His skin isn’t painted with constellations of freckles, instead it is mottled with searing red burns and charred wounds, festering in his flesh like an infection. There’s no warmth in his gaze. His left eye is glazed over. Thin veins snake across the sclera like blood through water, a dark blue haze masking the gentle brown that once shone there.

“Get out!” Michael screams. Gavin flinches at the sound of something else being thrown against the wall. “Fucking _get_ _out!_ ” And a doctor ushers Gavin out of the room, holding Michael’s used bandages in his gloved hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo i was going to upload this around christmas time so that it matched up with the timeline of the fic but then Depression happened and i didn't...do that. sorry it took so long. i don't really have a lot of motivation to write this anymore since so many things have changed with roosterteeth from when i started planning this thing 'til now - when i'm Still working on it. there are so many employees i wish i'd included and others that i wish i hadn't. so, any feedback or any ideas for what you guys would like to see in future chapters would really help me out. and feel free to drop me a line on my [tumblr](http://transminyoongi.tumblr.com/). as always, thanks for reading, and i'll hopefully see you next time
> 
> EDIT: i've made the decision to discontinue this fic. even though i'd slowly been working on chpt. 5 with the hopes that i'd post it and continue the story 'til its end, the chapter has some focus on griffon as a character and her relationship with geoff, which i'm not comfortable writing now that they've split. since i started writing this fic more than 3 years ago, the plot decisions i made have limited me in what i'm able to do now. i'm not happy with my characterisation of ryan nor do i want to keep on writing ray and i've struggled to shoehorn jeremy into chpt. 5 because i don't want to write a rtah fic without him in it. my motivation for this story has been dwindling for a long time and it's impacted my ability to work on other fics or start new stories. thanks for reading. it's been a real adventure ♡


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